THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
P.  ^ennox  Tierney 


OUT  OF  THE  FOAJM 


a 


JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE, 

AUTHOR  or 

TO   HTM1,"    "HAMMER  AND   RAPIER,"    "FAIBFAX" 
•/ULET1  OTST."  KTC..  VK. 


NEW  YORK: 
G.     W.    Dillingham     Co.,    Publishers. 

MDCCCXCVII. 


Entered,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

G.  W.  CARf,ETON  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  a*  Washington, 


CONTENTS. 


PART    I. 

THE  ATTACK  ON  WESTBEOOKB  HALL. 

Burns.  Ptam. 

L  —  The  Beacon      .        .        .        .        .        .  • 

IL  —  The  Solitary  Woman  and  her  Viritor        .  IS 

HE.  —  The  Gypsy        .       .       .       *       .       .  19 

IV.  —  The  Odor  of  Death 88 

V.  —  The  Rendezvous        .        .        .        *        .88 

VL  — Sir  Murdangh's  Midnight  Visitor      .       .  41 

VH  —  What  Earle  saw  from  hi*  Hiding-place      .  46 

VUL  —  The  Wolf -Hound 5t 

IX.  —  How  Earle  Staggered  and  Fell,  Uttering 

a  Cry  of  Triumph 87 

X.  —  How  the  Sailor  Earle  became  one  of  the 

"Wolves" « 


CONTENTS. 


OllAPTKR. 

XL  —  Bllinor  Maverick       ....        r      79 

XII.  —  "It  is  Time!"  ......      80 

yTTT.  —  The  Man  in  the  Coach       ....      84 

XIV.  —  The  Night  March,  and  its  Object      .        .      91 
XV.—  The  Viscount  Cecil    .....      98 

XVL  —  The  Attack  and  Pursuit    .         .        .        .103 

XVIL-GoIiath  •  .,119 


PART    II. 

THE    BLOOD-UOUND. 

P*8BL 

L—  Hunted 118 

IL  —  The  Baronet  and  the  Solitary   .        .        .    129 
IIL — What  One  Woman  is  capable  of  toward 

Another 149 

IV.    -The  Sailor  and  his  Ship    .        .        .        .149 

V.  — Earle's  Design 154 

VL— The  Witness      ...         .        .        .        .158 

VIL  — The  Denunciation     .....     169 

VltL  —  The  Blood-Hound 170 

DL— What  Followed         .....    177 

X.  —The  Flag  with  the  Lflie*  ....    181 


CONTENTS. 

PART    III. 

BUBIED 


ttiOL. 

L  — Baron  Delameie       .        .        .        •        .  189 
II.  —  The  Mutilated  Register    .        .        .        .198 

in. —  The   Revelation 903 

IV.  —  The  Discovery 207 

V.  —  The  Blow  of  the  Whip     .        .        .        .913 

VL— The  Mad  Dog 819 

VIL  — The  Burial  of  the  Wolf     ....  234 

Vm.  — The  Chase 228 

XL—  The  Mystery  of  the  Dead  Bodies      .        .  233 

X.  — The  Den  of  the  Wolf       ....  839 

XL— Kidnapped 243 

XIL  —  Master  and  Man 247 

Xm. —A  Tigress .  251 

XTV.— The  Intruder 259 

XV.  —The  Rifled  Grave      .....  289 

XVL—  The  Attack  of  the  Wolves         ...  277 

XVIL  —  The  News  from  France     ....  283 

XVLLL,  —  The  Crisis 289 

XIX.  —  The  Path  to  Wentworth  Castle         .        .  298 

XX.  -  •  What  the  Gypsy  Woman  had  Seen    .        .  299 

XXL— The  Lore  of  an  Old  Man  for  a  Girl   .        .  804 


rill  CONTENTS. 


CHATTER. 
XXII.  —  The  Bludgeon  and  the  Rope      .        .        .818 

XxfiL  —  The  Maverick  Vault          ....  817 

XXI  V.  —  The  Man  from  Went  worth  Castle      ,        .  823 

XXV.  —  The  Wedding  at  Llangollen                r        .  826 

XX.VL  —The  Vengeance  of  a  Blood-Hound    .        .  832 
ECVI7  —  The  Wolves  celebrate  the  Marriage  of  their 

Chief                                                        .  898 


PART    I. 

THE  ATTACK  ON  WESTBROOKE  BALL. 


CHAPTER  7. 

THE   BEACON. 

a  stormy  night  of  autumn,  a  boat,  ap« 
proaching  from  the  open  sea,  drew  rap 
idly  near  the  coast  of  Pembrokeshire,  the 
most  western  of  the  shires  of  Wales. 
The  coast  was  wild,  rock-bound,  jutting  out 
into  gigantic  headlands,  and  lashed  by  the 
restless  surges  of  St.  George's  Channel,  break 
ing  with  a  hollow  murmur  on  dangerous  reefs. 
At  the  point  which  the  boat  approached,  the 
loftiest  of  these  headlands  rose  precipitously 
from  the  foam ;  at  ita  foot  grinned  the  jagged 
teeth  of  rocks  which  had  wrecked  many  a 
vessel ;  and  in  the  cavernous  recesses  the  long 
bellow  of  the  waves  was  mingled  with  the 
shrill  scream  of  the  sea-fowl. 


10  THE  BEACON. 

The  boat  was  rowed  by  four  men,  and  in 
the  stwn  stood  a  fifth  personage  wrapped  in  a 
cloak. 

The  stars,  glittering  from  moment  to  mo 
ment,  betvoen  the  masses  of  black  cloud,  scarce 
revealed  the  dusky  figures;  but  all  at  once 
there  shot  up  from  the  headland,  towering  at 
a  dizzy  height  above,  a  pillar  of  flame,  which 
threw  its  crimson  glare  far  out  apon  the  waves 
of  the  channel. 

Every  instant  the  fiery  streamer  grew  more 
brilliant.  The  wind  began  to  blow  big  guns, 
and  the  gigantic  torch  flickered  in  the  gusts. 
The  boat  flew  on,  —  was  steered  through  the 
threatening  reefs  by  the  man  in  the  stern, — 
and  finally  shot  straight  toward  the  perpendic 
ular  precipice,  where  it  seemed  impossible  to 
land. 

The  steersman,  however,  evidently  knew  the 
locality.  All  at  once,  there  appeared  a  sort 
of  indentation  in  the  precipice,  from  which  a 
winding  pathway  was  seen  to  ascend  the  cliff. 
The  boat  touched  laud,  or  rather  the  rock ;  the 
man  in  the  cloak  leaped  ashore,  carrying  under 
his  arm  a  black  leather  valise;  and  the  boat, 
without  delay,  re  turned  toward  the  open  chan 
nel 


THE  BZACCtf.  11 


Afl  it  moved  away,  the  man  in  the  cld»k  said, 
in  the  brief  tone  jf  command,  — 

a  Remember  my  orders,  men.  .Return  to  this 
spot  every  night,  for  ten  nights,  at  this  hour. 
The  corvette  will  stand  for  the  coast  of  Ireland, 
bnt  regularly  beat  up  again  at  nightfall.  My 
business  may  be  finished  in  two  days  ;  if  not  in 
ten,  1  will  be  dead." 

And  the  speaker  rapidly  ascended  the  cliff  by 
the  rugged  path,  which,  in  twenty  minutes,  con 
ducted  him  to  the  plateau  on  which  streamed 
the  beacon  light. 

It  was  a  great  bonfire  in  a  fissure  of  rock,  not 
far  from  a  sort  of  hut  leaning  against  a  mass  of 
granite.  On  a  bench,  in  front  of  the  hut,  sat  a 
woman  of  about  fifty,  clad  in  sad-colored  gar 
ments,  and  looking  out  thoughtfully  upon  the 
channel.  The  face  of  this  woman  was  pale  and 
emaciated  ;  her  hair  was  sprinkled  with  gray  ; 
and  from  time  to  time  she  passed  backward  and 
forward  through  her  fingers  the  beads  of  a 
Catholic  devotee,  attached  to  her  girdle.  Poor 
as  her  dress  and  surroundings  were,  there  was 
something  proud  and  imposing  in  her  appear 
ance.  In  the  full  glare  of  the  beacon  light 
every  detail  was  plain. 

The  man  drew  near.    At  first  the  crackling 


12  THE   3EACON. 

of  the  fire  and  the  dense  smoke  made  the  woinai 
unaware  of  his  approach.  All  at  once,  however, 
he  stood  beside  her.  and  exclaiming  "  Edmond  I  " 
§he  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Mother !  "  came  in  response,  and  a  moment 
afterwards  she  was  locked  in  the  man's  embrace. 

As  he  extended  his  arms  his  cloak  fell,  and 
he  was  seen  to  be  clad  in  the  full  uniform  of  a 
captain  of  the  French  navy. 

Tliis  scene  took  place  nearly  a  century  ago, 
and  England  and  France  were  then  at  war. 


**•-•*" 


OHAPTEF  K 

THE   SOLITARY  WOMAN  AND   HER   VI8ITOB. 

HE  young  officer  and  the  woman  sat  down 
side  by  side  on  the  bench,  in  the  full  light 
of  the  beacon  fire. 

The  light  revealed  his  face  and  figure 
clearly.  He  was  about  twenty-five;  of  slight 
figure,  but  evidently  active  and  powerful.  The 
face  was  bronzed  by  sun  and  wind.  In  the 
black  eyes,  keen  and  piercing,  could  be  read 
force  of  character,  and  a  courage  as  cool  as  it 
was  reckless. 

They  talked  long  and  earnestly.     The  sailor 
seemed  to  be  narrating  his  adventures. 

u  And  now,  mother,"  he  at  length  said,  "since 
[  have  finished  with  myself  3  let  us  come  to  your 
self.     You  still  keep  up  your  beacon  ? " 
"  Yes,  yes,  my  son ! "  was  the  reply,  in  French, 

08) 


14  SOLITARY  HOMAtf. 

the  language  of  their  conversation.    "  Alas !  it 
is  little  to  do  in  expiation  of  my  sins." 

"Your  sins?" 

u  My  great  sins.  Do  not  bring  them  to  my 
memory.  That  beacon,  you  know,  warns  ves 
sels  approaching  the  reefs.  It  has  saved  many 
lives." 

"True,  mother — mine  among  the  rest.  I 
dared  not  look  for  a  pilot,  and  your  beacon  saved 
the  corvette  last  year." 

"  A  whole  year  since  your  last  visit  1 " 

She  gazed  at  him  tenderly  as  she  uttered  these 
words. 

"  Could  I  help  that,  mother  ?    England  and 
France  are    enemies    now,  and  the    coast    is 
guarded.     A  frigate  may  blow  my  little  co: 
vette  out  of  the  water  at  any  moment." 

"  But  you  come  — " 

u  On  secret  service." 

"Tell  me  of  it." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  That  is  impossible,  mother." 

"  And  yet  I  tell  you  all !  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile,  and  then 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  tell  me  nothing.  What  is  it  yon  ha^e 
•vor  told  me?  Stay :  what  brought  you  hither, 


SOLITARY  WOMAN.  15 

many  years  3ince,  to  this  solitary  spot  ?  Why 
did  you  leave  beautiful  France  for  this  rock- 
bound  shore  ?  Why  do  you  live  the  life  of  a 
recluse,  going  to  the  fishing  village  beneath 
only  once  in  many  months  to  buy  scanty  sup 
plies,  with  the  poor  little  gold  I  brought  ? " 

Her  head  sank. 

"  True,"  she  said,  "  I  have  preserved  silence 
as  to  all  this,  but  only  because  I  was  compelled 
to  do  so.  Believe  me,  Edmond,  I  have  good 
reasons  for  my  silence." 

"And  I  too,  my  mother,  for  mine,  namely, 
my  orders.  So  we  will  respect  each  other's  se 
cret.  Instead  of  speaking,  I  wish  you  to  speak. 
Is  a  certain  Viscount  Cecil  in  this  neighborhood 
now?" 

u  I  do  not  know,  my  son." 

"  A  certain  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  ?  n 

The  woman  turned  her  head  suddenly. 

"  I  believe  so.  But  your  business  with  Aw», 
my  son  ? " 

The  sailor  uttered  a  short  laugh. 

"  Merely  to  have  an  interview  with  hira;  my 
mother." 

The  woman  shuddered. 

«  What  is  the  matter,  mother !" 

*  Beware  of  this  inan,  my  son." 


16  SOLITARY  WOfifAtf. 

"Beware  of  Sir  Murdaugh  WesttrookoV' 

"  He  is  a  terrible  person,  they  say ;  bloody  and 
cruel ;  and  strange  stories  are  told  of  him." 

"  Ah  1  what  stories?" 

"  Mysterious  things  are  said  to  take  place  at 
Westbrooke  Hall.  People  speak  of  singular 
loises  heard  there,  —  of  groans ;  of  great  hounds 
prowling  around  ready  to  tear  down  intruders. 
More  still, — it  is  said  that  a  singular  odor  fills 
the  house." 

"  A  singular  odor  ? " 

"  The  smell  of  corpses." 

And  the  woman  crossed  herself. 

The  young  sailor  repeated  his  short  laugh. 

"That  is  mysterious,  and  curious,  and  I  will 
go  and  see  for  myself.  Groans — hounds — 
noises — the  smell  of  corpses!  That  is  queer, 
and  excites  curiosity.  But  we  have  comersed 
sufficiently  of  the  excellent  baronet.  Besides, 
I  am  in  haste,  my  mother  —  I  must  leave  you, 
First,  however,  here  is  some  gold." 

And  he  drew  a  heavily  filled  bag  from  his 
Talise,  and  placed  it  in  the  lap  of  the  recluse. 

"  Do  not  refuse  it,"  he  added  ;  "  it  is  honestly 
earned ;  and  money  is  a  friend,  mother  —  one  of 
the  best  in  the  world,  and  we  should  not  repulse 
friends.  Now  I  must  hurry.  I  have  aome 


SOLITARY  WOMAN.  17 

distance  to  travel  to-night,  and  mus*  cna^ige  my 
costume." 

"With  these  words  the  sailor  raised  the  valise, 
and  entered  the  door  of  the  hut,  leaving  the 
solitary  woman  still  seated  on  her  bench,  in  the 
light  of  the  beacon  fire. 

This  light  streamed  through  the  small  win 
dow,  and  revealed  a  rush-clad  floor,  one  hard 
wooden  chair,  a  low  narrow  bed,  with  a  poor 
but  neat  covering,  and  several  exquisite  engrav 
ings  of  scenes  in  the  lives  of  the  saints. 

In  ten  minutes  the  sailor  reappeared.  He 
was  scarce  recognizable.  His  uniform  had  been 
replaced  by  a  handsome  dark  travelling  suit  of 
English  fashion ;  in  one  haud  he  carried  a  small 
travelling  satchel,  and  in  the  other  what  appeared 
to  be  a  bundle  of  rods  about  three  feet  in  length, 
wrapped  in  shining  oil-cloth. 

"You  behold,  my  mother,  the  gentleman 
tourist,  Mr.  Delainere,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  Let 
it  be  pardoned  the  captain,  Edmond  Earle, 
sailor,  if  he  adopts  the  name  of  Delamere  — 
de  la  mer  —  as  that  to  which  he  is  best  entitled 
after  his  own." 

"  And  you  will  leave  me,  my  eon,  so  soon 
after  gladdening  my  poor  old  eyes  with  youi 
coming?" 

t 


19  SOLITARY  WOMAN. 

"  I  must,  mother;  but  do  not  fear:  I  will  §oon 
return." 

"  But  the  danger." 

"Danger!  Well,  we  are  old  acquaintance^ 
this  same  danger  and  myself.  We  have  shaken 
hands  often,  and  I  am  not  afraid  of  him." 

"  If  they  discover  you — " 

"They  will  arrest  and  hang  me  as  a  spy! 
Yes:  but  they  will  not  probably  discover  me. 
I  speak  English  like  a  native ;  and  before  they 
hang  me,  the  town  yonder  will  be  blown  to 
atoms  by  my  cannon." 

The  recluse  clasped  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  my  son!  do  not  go." 

He  laughed  grimly. 

"Be  at  rest,  my  mother:  there  is  no  danger; 
and  you  will  not  behold  that  fine  spectacle  from 
your  headland,  —  the  coast  of  this  good  Pem- 
brokshire  raked  by  the  guns  of  my  corvette. 
See !  yonder  is  her  light  on  the  horizon.  She  is 
standing  out  to  sea.  You  do  not  see  it?  I  am  a 
sailor,  and  see  far.  And  now,  farewell,  my 
mother.  I  will  revisit  you  to-morrow  r  ght,  I 
think.  Embrace  me  " 

And  embracing  the  woman,  the  sailor  set  out 
rapidly  by  a  path  which  led  down  the  mountain 
tide  toward  the  interior. 


CHAPTER 


THE   GYPSY. 

MILE  southward  from  the  headland 
which  we  have  described,  lay  the  fish 
ing  village  of  Oldport,  an  assemblage  of 
huts,  many  of  them  consisting  of  the 
overturned  hulls  of  wrecked  vessels,  in  which 
lurked  rather  than  lived  openly  a  wild  and  law 
less  class  of  men,  half  fishermen,  half  smugglers, 
popularly  known  throughout  the  region  as  "The 
Wolves." 

In  front  of  a  building  of  somewhat  greater 
pretensions  hung  a  rude  sign  depicting  a  cat 
with  a  bell  around  her  neck.  This  was  the  inn 
of  the  Cat  and  £ell,  and  on  the  day  after  the 
scenes  just  described,  a  rickety  old  road-wagon, 
answering  in  place  of  a  stage-coach,  deposited 
at  the  inn  the  disguised  French  officer  who  nad 
entered  the  vehicle  at  a  town  some  mile*  distant 


20  THE  GYPSY. 

Announcing  himself  as  Mr.  Delamere,  tonrist 
and  amateur  trout-fisherman,  he  dined ;  stated 
that  he  expected  to  remain  some  days;  and 
taking  from  the  oil-cloth  case  a  jointed  fishing- 
rod,  fitted  it  together,  and  strolled  through  the 
village. 

From  the  huts  of  the  "  Wolves,"  curious  and 
threatening  eyes  were  bent  upon  him,  shining 
under  shaggy  masses  of  hair.  The  wild  animals 
seemed  to  scent  a  popinjay  in  the  well-clad 
amateur  of  their  own  trade. 

But  Earle  did  not  see  the  scornful  glances, 
or  hear  the  threatening  murmurs.  He  pro 
ceeded  toward  a  body  of  wood,  from  which 
rose  in  the  distance  a  great  mansion  of  dark- 
colored  stone ;  gained  the  wood,  through  which 
a  stream  ran,  and  rapidly  following  a  path, 
muttered, — 

"This  leads  to  "Westbrooke  Hall — which  is 
my  object,  since  the  worthy  Viscount  Cecil  is 
not  in  the  vicinity.  I  must  reconnoitre.  This 
is  the  path,  I  think — " 

Suddenly  he  stopped.  He  had  come  upon  a 
group  of  gypsies ;  an  old  crone  in  a  red  cloak 
bending  over  a  blaze,  two  roguish-looking  girls, 
and  a  young  man,  black-eyed,  black-haired, 
lithe  of  figure,  reclining  at  the  moment  between 


TtiE  GYPS*,  21 

the  girls,  and  picking  his  white  teeth  with  a 
straw.  lie  was  a  handsome  young  vagabond, 
and  his  ragged  clothes  did  not  conceal  a  grace 
ful  and  vigoroiia  figure. 

No  sooner  had  Earle  made  his  appearance, 
than  one  of  the  girls  rose  and  hastened  to  him. 

"  Shall  I  tell  your  fortune,  handsome 
stranger  ?  "  she  said. 

Earle  looked  intently  at  the  girl,  shook  his 
head,  and  replied  in  a  strange  tongue  which 
seemed  to  produce  an  electric  effect  on  the 
group.  The  girls  started,  the  old  crone  turned 
her  head,  and  the  young  man,  rising  to  his  feet, 
exclaimed,  — 

"  How  1  you  speak  the  Rommanye  Rye  I 
You  are  a  brother  ? " 

Earle  replied  in  the  same  language,  and  the 
young  man  looked  at  him  with  astonishment. 

"You  speak  the  pure  unmixed  Rommanye 
Rye!  Where  did  you  learn  it,  brother,  and 
who  are  you  ? " 

"  i  learned  it  in  Portugal,  brother,"  responded 
Earle,  "  and  am  one  of  the  tribe  by  adoption. 
Who  I  am,  beyond  that,  is  not  important." 

The  gypsy  came  up  close  to  him. 

"  Yes,  it  is  important,"  he  whispered. 


22  THE  GYPSY. 

a  Because,  if  you  are  really  a  brother  of  tha 
Rommanye  Bye,  —  and  you  needs  must  be,  since 
you  speak  our  tongue,  —  I  have  something  on 
hand  in  which  you  can  help  me,  and  yourself 
too." 

"  What  is  it  ?  and  how  will  it  benefit  me  ? " 

"  There  will  be  ten  thousand  guineas  tc 
divide." 

Earle  looked  sidewise  at  his  companion. 

"  A  robbery  ? "  he  said,  coolly. 

The  gypsy  looked  much  shocked. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,  brother :  the  affair  is  a 
strange  one  ;  but  no  robbery." 

Earle  found  his  curiosity  much  excited  by  thia 
preamble,  and  said, — 

"  Well,  tell  me  about  it.  I  may  be  able  to 
assist  you." 

The  gypsy  looked  toward  his  companions,  and 
whispered, 

"  Not  here  or  now." 

u  When  and  where,  then  ? " 

"Do  you  see  that  spot  yonder,  where  the 
road  skirts  the  dark  pool,  under  the  big  r(  ck, 
covered  with  trailing  viigs,  hanging  down  in 
the  water » " 

"Yes." 

"Afeet  me  there  at    midnight  to-night    I 


swear,  on  the  faith  of  tne  Rommanye  Rye,  that 
uo  harm  shall  come  to  you  ! " 

Earle  laughed. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  he  said,  "  and  I  know  that 
oath  is  sacred.  I  only  demur  to  the  time  and 
place.  I  am  at  Oldport,  and  that  is  miles  dis 
tant.  Midnight  is  the  hour  to  sleep ;  why  not 
earlier  and  in  a  less  secluded  spot  ? " 

"  Because  what  I  tell  you  must  be  told  to  you 
alone ;  and  that  spot  is  the  place  to  tell  it." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  You  will  discover." 

Earle  looked  keenly  at  his  interlocutor.  He 
was  evidently  in  earnest. 

"  You  want  my  help  ? "  said  Earle. 

"  I  must  have  help.  None  of  the  brothers  of 
the  Rommanye  Rye  are  at  hand.  You  are  a 
stranger,  but  a  brother.  I  will  trust  you. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  I  will  be  yonder,  near  the  pool,  at 
midnight,"  was  the  reply. 

And  they  returned  to  the  group  who  had 
been  eyeing  them  with  ill-dissembled  curi 
osity. 

"This  is  a  brother,"  he  said  to  the  gypsy 
girK  "  There  is  no  mistake  about  it." 

The  black-eyed  hourics  showed  their  appreci- 


ation  of  the  visitor,  thereupon,  by  coming  u| 
to  him,  locking  their  arms,  browned  by  the 
sun,  around  his  neck,  and  kissing  him  with 
ardor. 

The  sailor  laughed,  and  did  not  decline  the 
ruddy  lips.  He  then  made  a  confidential  ges 
ture  to  the  young  gypsy,  declined  the  offered 
supper,  and  went  on,  intent,  it  seemed,  on 
making  the  circuit  of  the  Westbrooke  Park, 
until  he  reached  the  gateway. 

This  he  soon  found,  —  a  huge  arch,  with 
carved  stone  abutments,  —  and,  dragging  open 
the  ponderous  affair,  he  entered  the  grounds. 

They  had  been  splendid,  but  were  now  return 
ing  to  wilerdness.  Hares  ran  across  the  road 
in  front  of  the  pedestrian,  a  deer  disappeared 
in  a  tangled  thicket,  and  no  human  being  was 
seen,  to  indicate  that  the  spot  was  inhabited. 

All  at  once,  Earle  came  in  sight  of  a  great 
building  of  age-embrowned  stone,  apparently 
(tog  from  the  neighboring  quarries,  with  lofty 
gables,  ivy-covered,  and  long  rows  of  windows, 
close-shut,  and  giving  no  indication  that  the 
house  was  occupied  by  the  living,  whatever  an 
tics  the  dead  might  cut  up,  at  midnight,  in  ita 
suites  of  deserted  chambers.  The  great  front 
door  was  as  closely  secured,  and  a  huge  knocker 


GYPSY.  55 


In  bronze  scowled  fiercely  through  cobwebs. 
In  the  circle  in  front  of  the  portico,  whose  tes- 
selated  floor  was  giving  way,  was  a  stone  urn, 
slowly  crumbling. 

Westbrooke  Hall  was  not  a  cheerful  spec 
tacle. 

Earle  was  looking  at  it,  leaning,  as  he  did  so, 
against  a  tree,  when  a  rough  voice  near  Jiinr 
laid,  in  a  threatening  tone,  — 

"  Well,  what  is  your  business  here  ?  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  ODOB   OF  DEATH. 

'AKLE  turned  quickly. 

Standing  near  him  was  a  man  of  lovr 
stature,  but  herculean  limbs,  with  a 
shaggy  beard,  bloodshot  eyes,  ovei 
which  the  brows  were  bent  in  a  dark  scowl, 
and  holding  in  liis  hand,  finger  on  trigger,  a 
heavy  carbine. 

Betide  him  stood  two  large  wolf-hounds, 
ready  to  spring.  The  man  with  this  ferocious 
body-guard  seemed  reluctant  to  await  Earle's 
reply  before  firing  upon  him. 

The  sailor  exhibited  little  surprise  and  no 
fsar. 

"My  business  here?''  he  said.    "Who  are 
you  that  ask  that  ?    The  gamekeeper  ?  " 
"Yes  —  who  are  youf    I  am  told  that  an* 


THE  ODOR  OF  DEATH.  2? 

picioiis  characters  are  prowling  about.  YJUI 
name  and  business  here,  or  I  carry  you  befort 
Sir  Murdaugh ! " 

Earle  reflected  for  a  moment,  muttering,  — 

"  That  would  not  be  so  bad." 

The  gamekeeper  cocked  his  gun,  scowling 
ferociously. 

"Do  you  intend  to  answer  me  I " 

"No." 

"Then  come  along  before  his  honor.  He 
will  find  out  who  is  prowling  around  Lil 
house." 

Earle  coolly  nodded,  and  walked  with  the 
man  toward  the  mansion.  Reaching  the  front 
door,  his  companion  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
huge  key,  opened  the  ponderous  door,  which 
grated  on  its  hinges,  and  ushered  Earle  into  a 
funereal  apartment,  hung  round  with  old  por 
traits,  after  which  he  disappeared. 

The  furniture  was  ancient  and  mouldy ;  and 
to  add  to  this  depressing  influence,  Earle's  at 
tention  was  speedily  attracted  by  a  peculiarly 
acrid,  offensive,  and  even  sickening  odor,  which 
he  could  compare  to  nothing  but  that  issuing 
from  some  vault  or  charnel-house. 

In  spite  of  his  courage  and  buoyancy  of  tern 
perament,  he  shuddered.  This  funereal  man 


23  THE  ODOR   OF  DEAtit. 

sioii,  full  of  shadows  and  mystery,  affected  Till 
pleasantly  even  the  rough  sailor.  The  dim  eyei 
of  the  portraits  followed  him,  the  brows 
scowled,  the  terrible  odor,  which  he  perceived 
now,  came  to  perfect  the  depressing  and  mel 
ancholy  influence  of  the  place. 

"  Really,  I  have  blundered  into  a  vault,"  lie 
muttered.  "  Some  corpse  is  going  to  glide  in 
at  that  door  there,  and  clutch  me  by  the 
hair!" 

Suddenly  a  harsh  and  metallic  voice,  almost 
beside  him  said,  — 

"  Your  business  here  ?  How  did  you  gain 
entrance  \ " 

Earle  turned  and  saw  before  him  a  strange 
figure.  In  the  new-comer's  appearance  there 
was  something  at  once  grotesque  and  terrible. 
He  was  a  man  of  abont  sixty  ;  of  great  height : 
gaunt,  bony,  with  glittering  eyes,  deeply  sunken 
under  heavy  brows,  and  a  nose  resembling  the 
beak  of  a  hawk.  From  the  cornel's  of  a  large 
and  sensual  mouth,  protruded  two  tusks,  rather 
than  teeth.  The  result  of  this,  was  a  perma 
nent  and  ghastly  sneer,  which  put  the  finishi  ng 
touch  to  a  physiognomy  which  excited  <*t  once 
fear  and  disgust  —  the  sentiment  of  the  ridicu 
lous  and  the  terrible. 


THE   ODOR   Of  DEATH.  29 

He  was  clad  in  an  old  faded  dressing-gown, 
the  sleeves  of  which  were  rolled  up,  and  had 
evidently  not  expected  a  visitor. 

"  Your  business  here  ? "  he  repeated,  in  his 
cold,  forbidding  voice,  the  muddy  gray  eyea 
rolling  in  their  cavernous  sockets. 

Earle  gazed  at  him  coolly,  and  replied,  — 

"  Your  gamekeeper  conducted  me  hither.  I 
say  your  gamekeeper,  as  I  presume  you  are  Sir 
Murdaugh  Westbrooke." 

"  I  am." 

As  he  spoke,  the  shaggy-headed  Hercules 
entered.  His  master  turned  to  him  with  a 
scowl. 

"  I  ordered  no  one  to  be  admitted  here  with 
out  my  knowledge  —  why  have  you  disobeyed 
me  ? "  he  said. 

"  It  was  long  ago  —  I  was  wrong  Sir  Mur- 
daugh,"  stammered  the  man. 

"  In  future  obey  me,"  grated  the  metallic 
voice  ;  "  who  is  this  —  gentleman  ? " 

The  word  seemed  forced  reluctantly  from 
him. 

"  I  am  a  tourist,"  said  Earle,  "  travelling  on 
ray  own  affairs.  I  came  to  look  at  Westbrooke 
Park,  and  have  been  gratified  with  a  view,  also, 
of  the  interior  of  vour  residence,  sir, — in  tjif 


80  THE   ODOR   CF  DEATB. 

character  of  a  vagrant  brought  up  before  yoiu 
honor." 

And  Earle  looked  around  him  coolly.  A 
door  led  from  the  apartment  toward  the  ser 
vants  quarters'  —  through  folding  doors,  leading 
to  a  second  receiving  room,  a  window  was  seen 
open  in  rear,  and  through  this  window,  the 
foliage  of  the  park. 

"  Good ! "  muttered  the  sailor ;  "  that  is  all  I 
wanted  to  know." 

He  rose  and  bowed. 

"  If  I  am  not  to  be  committed  as  a  vagabond, 
I  will  now  take  my  leave,  sir,"  he  said. 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  bowed  stiffly. 

"  Before  I  take  my  departure,  however,  maj 
1  ask  one  question,  sir  ?  "  said  the  sailor. 

«  Ask  it." 

"  It  may  appear  intrusive." 

"  Ask  it ! "  grated  the  voice. 

"Since  you  so  politely  permit  me,  I  will 
venture  to  ask,"  said  the  sailor,  coolly,  "  what 
the  very  peculiar  odor  I  perceive  here  is  due  to, 
Sir  Murdaugh." 

The  baronet  drew  back  and  seemed  to  freeze 
Only  his  eyes  burned  in  thoir  bloodshot 
recesses. 

u  Your  question  is  offensive  I "  he  growled 


THE  ODOR   Of    DEATH.  HI 

u  Then  it  resembles  the  suell  I  perceive." 

And  Earl  snuffed  up  the  air  with  manifest 
disgust. 

"  I  compliment  you  upon  the  power  of  your 
imagination ! "  sneered  the  baronet. 

"  My  nose  is  the  organ  affected,  and  I  should 
say  that  you  have  a  corpse  for  a  visitor  at 
present,  sir,"  said  Earle.  "  But  I  grow  really 
intrusive  now,  and  will  take  my  leave.  Good- 
evening.  Thanks  for  the  hospitalities  of  West- 
brooke  Hall.  We  shall  probably  meet  again." 

And  he  bowed  and  left  the  apartment.  A* 
he  did  so  the  baronet  called,  — 

"Wilde!" 

The  shaggy  gamekeeper  was  at  the  door,  and 
quickly  made  his  appearance. 

"  Follow  that  man  and  find  out  where  he 
goes,  and  who  he  is  —  I  do  not  like  him. 
There  is  something  in  his  face  and  voice  that 
warns  me  to  beware  of  him.  Who  is  he  ? 
You  do  not  know  ?  Why  do  you  not  know  ? 
What  do  I  employ  you  tor?  Go,  I  say, 
and  track  him,  and  bring  me  word  all  about 
him!" 

The  man,  sullen  but  cowed,  went  out,  and  the 
baronet  looked  toward  the  door  through  which 
Earle  had  disappeared. 


32  THE   ODOR   OF  DEATH. 

"  If  that  man  comes  here  again  \rith  hi» 
talk  al)out  odors  and  corpses,"  he  mnttered  in 
his  harsh  voice,  while  the  yellow  tusks  pro 
truded  thread  ^nirgly.  "  I  will  mat  9  a  corpse  oi 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE   RENDEZVOUS. 

T  was  nearly  midnight:  the  moon  had 
risen  about  half  an  hour  before,  and  its 
pallid  light  revealed  every  feature  of  the 
lonely  and  lugubrious  locality  fixed  upon 
by  the  gypsy  for  his  rendezvous  with  Earle. 

Nothing  more  gloomy  and  forbidding  than 
the  spot  in  question  could  be  imagined. 

The  road,  or  rather  bridle-path,  indicated  by 
the  gypsy,  ran  along  the  steep  banks  of  the 
stream  we  have  spoken  of,  and  near  a  dark  and 
dull  en-looking  pool  above  which  rose  a  huge 
rock,  festooned  with  spectral-looking  vines,  aiia 
covered  nearly  with  dense  foliage.  The  stream, 
merrily  brawling  on  elsewhere,  here  dragged 
its  black  and  sombre  current  slowly  along, 
and  deposited  »te  froth  and  scum.  Above 
S  (88) 


M  THE  RENDEZVOUS. 

the  pojl  a  dead  bough,  gnarled  und  abrupt, 
resembled  the  gaunt  arm  of  some  fiend 
tfretched  out  —  beneath,  on  the  sullen  water, 
de  shadows  assumed  ghostly  and  threatening 
outlines. 

It  was  a  spot  to  commit  a  murder,  not  to 
hold  a  midnight  interview  in,  save  with  the 
hand  upon  some  weapon.  The  very  hooting  of 
a  great-horned  owl,  buried  iu  the  leaves,  sounded 
unearthly.  The  spot  seemed  given  up  to  gloom 
and  the  recollection,  by  the  very  inanimate 
objects,  of  some  terrible  tragedy. 

Precisely  at  midnight,  a  figure  wrapped  in  a 
cloak  approached  the  great  gnarled  tree  near  the 
rock  hanging  over  the  pool,  and  the  moonlight 
clearly  revealed  the  form  of  Earle. 

"Well,  I  am  here,"  he  muttered;  "where,  I 
wonder,  is  my  friend  of  the  black  eyes?" 

"Herel"  came  from  the  shadow  of  the 
rock. 

And  the  gypsy  advanced  into  the  moonlight. 

Earle  advanced  in  his  turn.  Ur  der  his  cloak 
his  hand  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  poniard. 

They  faced  each  other  directly  opposite  the 
pool ;  and  the  dark  eyes  of  the  gypsy,  full  of 
wary  cunning,  were  fixed  upon  the  calm  face  of 
Carle. 


THE  Kb* uEZVO&S.  85 

"I  see  you  are  a  brave  man,  brother,"  he 
said. 

u  H  jw  have  I  proved  that  ? "  said  Earle. 

"By  coining  here  at  an  hour  like  this, 
alone." 

"  That  is  no  proof  of  my  courage.  You  are 
but  one  man — I  am  another." 

The  gypsy  laughed. 

"  And  a  cool  one.  Others  might  have  refused 
this  meeting.  This  spot  has  a  black  reputation 
in  the  neighborhood." 

"Why?" 

"A  man  was  tied  to  that  tree,  and  lashed 
•icarly  to  death." 

"Indeed!" 

"  And  six  feet  from  it,  another  was  murdered, 
and  his  body  dragged  to  the  pool  yonder,  where 
it  was  thrown  in,  with  weights  to  hold  it 
down." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  i " 

"  I  saw  it." 

"  You  saw  the  murder  ? " 

The  gypsy  nodded. 

"  Why  did  you  not  denounce  the  murderer  I 
But  doubtless  you  did  so." 

The  gypsy  shook  his  head. 

u  I  was  too  intelligent  for  that" 


86  THE  REXLEZVOUS. 

"Too  intelligent?" 

"Yes." 

"Explain.' 

The  gypsy  laughed  again.    It  was  a  lew, 
tie  sound,  like  the  hiss  of  a  serpent. 

"  Why  should  I  have  informed  on  the  mnr 
derer?"  he  said.  "No:  I  was  too  intelligent  for 
that  1  A  man  is  murdered  ;  his  body  concealed 
in  that  black-looking  pool ;  no  one  knows  of  th« 
murder  save  the  man  or  men  who  committed 
it,  and  a  wandering  vagabond  of  a  gypsy  who 
chanced  to  be  in  the  copse  yonder,  and  wit 
nessed  all,  —  and  you  ask  now  why  the  vaga 
bond  did  not  go  to  a  magistrate  and  tell  all; 
why  he  did  not  say,  'I  saw  another  commit 
this  murder.'  No  —  I  am  acquainted  with  thes* 
good  English  justices  of  the  peace.  They 
demand  a  murderer  where  murder  has  been 
done — what  more  natural  than  the  arrest  of  the 
ijagabondf" 

Earle  nodded. 

"You  are  right  And  you  held  yonr 
tongue?" 

"Yes." 

"Knowing  all?" 

"Yes." 

"  Tell  me  what  happened.    There  i* 


THE  RENDEiVOVS.  37 

like  understanding  all  the  particulars  of  a  given 
event" 

"  The  story  is  short.  I  will  conceal  nothing 
—for  you  are  a  brother  of  the  Rommanye  Rye, 
and  the  oath  of  the  brotherhood  seals  the  lips 
—  you  know  that." 

"Yes." 

"What  happened  was  this :  There  was  a  man 
who  had  an  enemy.  That  enemy  met  the  man 
one  day  at  this  spot,  seized  him  with  the  aid  of 
a  servant,  bound  him  to  that  tree  there,  and 
lashed  him  as  men  lash  a  hound.  I  do  not 
know  why  —  enough  that  he  lashed  him  till 
his  flesh  was  bloody.  Then  the  two  went 
away  and  left  him  tied ;  when  some  passer-bj 
found  him  he  was  nearly  dead." 

"  That  is  a  strange  story,"  said  Earle ;  "  and 
this  led  to  the  murder  ? " 

"Yes.  The  man  who  had  been  lashed  got 
well,  and  waited.  One  day  he  was  riding 
along  this  road  just  at  dark  with  a  mounted 
attendant.  He  met  his  enemy  —  the  one  who 
had  treated  him  as  I  have  described.  I  was 
yonder  in  that  thicket,  as  I  told  you.  The 
enemies  met  face  to  face,  and  he  who  had  been 
lashed  smiled  sweetly,  held  out  his  hand,  and 
laid,  *  I  forgive  you ;  my  punishment  wan 


*8  THE  REtfDEZVOt)3. 

just.'  At  these  words,  the  other  held  out  hii 
hand  in  turn.  A  minute  afterwards  he  fell 
from  his  horse  with  a  deep  groan  —  the  man 
whom  he  had  lashed  had  stabbed  him  to  the 
heart." 

"Good I"  said  Earle;  "there  is  a  regular 
murder." 

"  Yes.  The  man  did  not  die  at  once,  so  hie 
enemy  and  the  attendant  dismounted  and  beat 
out  his  brains.  They  then  fastened  rocks,  with 
*lieir  stirrup  leathers,  to  the  feet  of  the  corpse, 
and  dragged  it  to  the  pool  yonder,  where  they 
threw  it  in,  and  it  sunk  to  the  bottom." 
-  Earle  listened  with  attention. 

"  And  you  saw  all  this  ? " 

"Yes." 

"And  did  not  inform  on  the  murderer? M 

"No." 

"  Then  the  murder  remained  unsuspected  ? " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  was  discovered  at  once." 

"  How  was  that  ?  —  you  interest  me." 

"  The  murdered  man  had  been  followed  by 
a  very  fine  blood-hound,  a  pet  dog  with  him. 
When  he  was  stabbed,  the  dog  leaped  at  the 
throat  of  the  murderer." 

"Brave  dog!  —  and  they  did  not  kill  aim 
tool11 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  39 

a  No :  he  escaped,  and  led  the  way  afterwards 
to  the  spot  where  his  master  had  been  mur 
dered.  The  marks  of  a  struggle  were  found  — 
the  blood-stains  on  the  grass  over  which  the 
body  had  been  dragged,  and  at  last  the  body 
itself,  in  the  pool  where  it  had  been  sunk." 

Earle  reflected  for  some  moments  and  then 
said, — 

"That  is  a  singular  history  you  relate, 
brother,  and  yet  your  voice  tells  me  that  it 
is  true.  Now,  what  is  your  object  ?  To  bring 
the  murderer  to  justice  ? " 

The  gypsy  smiled. 

"I  should  like  to  do  so  if  I  could,  brother , 
but  I  cannot,  being  a  vagabond;  and  then,  I 
cannot  afford  it." 

"Afford  it?" 

"  The  secret  is  worth  much  money.  Listen , 
I  go — that  is,  you  and  I  go  —  to  the  man  who 
committed  that  murder  and  say,  "  Your  life  is 
in  my  hand ;  you  killed  a  man ;  pay  me  ten 
thousand  guineas  as  the  price  cf  my  secresy  ?" 
That  is  plain,  is  it  not  \ " 

Earle  nodded  coolly. 

"  Then  we  will  divide  the  Bum  h^  pays  ns,n 
paid  the  gypsy* 


40  TJtE  RENDEZVOUS*. 

"  That  would  be  liberal,"  returned  Earle. 

"You  consent?" 

a  That  depends.  We  have  used  no  names;  lei 
as  come  to  that.  Who  was  the  murdered  man  t " 

"  Giles  Maverick,  a  prominent  gentleman  ol 
Pembrokeshire." 

"The  murderer?" 

a  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke.  * 


CHAPTER  VL 


'E  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when  a 
low  growl  in  the  copse  near  them  was 
suddenly  heard ;  and  an  instant  after 
wards  the  gypsy  sprung  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound,  which  resembled  the  noise  of 
rapidly  retreating  footsteps. 

The  gypsy  followed  with  long  leaps,  like  a 
wild-cat  in  pursuit  of  his  prey ,  but  in  spite  of 
all,  the  sounds  became  more  and  more  indistinct, 
and  suddenly  ceased.  The  concealed  personage 
had  escaped. 

Earle  had  remained  motionless,  leaning 
against  the  gnarled  tree. 

In  ten  minutes  the  gypsy  returned  to  tie  spot, 
breathing  heavily  from  his  exertion. 

"  We  havB  been  tracked,"  he  said,  hastily. 


*2  TBS  MIDNIGHT 


Earle  nodded. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said. 

"You  thought  so?" 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  to  say,  I  feared  as  much." 

"Why?" 

"  I  was  at  Westbrooke  Hall  late  this  evening, 
and  had  a  conversation  with  Sir  Murdangh  West 
brooke.  As  I  went  out,  I  heard  him  summon  a 
confidential  servant,  or  gamekeeper,  whose  name 
is  Wilde.  The  man  followed  me,  hung  around 
the  tavern  at  the  village  for  an  hour,  disappeared, 
I  thought  ;  but  now  I  find  that  he  is  a  better 
hand  at  woodcraft  than  I  am,  a  mere  sailor, 
He  has  tracked  me,  and  overheard  all." 

The  gypsy  knit  his  brow. 

"  You  take  it  coolly,  brother." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  take  it 
otherwise." 

"  He  will  inform  Sir  Murdangh." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  all  he  has  heard." 

"  He  has  heard  nothing." 

"Nothing!" 

"We  have  been  Balking  in  the  Rommanye 
Uye,"  said  Earle. 

The  gypsy  looked  at  him  with  admiration. 

u  That  is  true,  brother,"  he  sa'd  ;  "  and 


THE  MIDNIGHT  VISITOR.  43 

have  a  long  head  on  your  shoulders.  Now  what 
is  to  be  done  ? " 

Earle  reflected  for  an  instant. 

"  The  affair  looks  unpromising,'1  .ie  said ; 
"  but  something  may,  perhaps,  take  place  which 
will  guide  you  in  your  business.  The  night  is 
clear,  we  have  some  hours  before  us :  why  not 
pay  a  visit  to  the  park  of  Westbrooke  Hall,  and 
try  to  discover,  for  one  thing,  whether  I  am  mis 
taken  in  thinking  that  the  man  Wilde  has 
tracked  me  ?  If  I  am  right,  he  will  return  to 
make  his  report.  Through  a  window  chink  we 
may  overhear  something ;  from  a  tree,  which  a 
good  sailor  like  myself  can  easily  climb,  we 
may  see  something.  Who  knows  ?  Let  us  try, 
at  least." 

And,  followed  by  the  gypsy,  who  evidently 
regarded  him  with  admiration,  Earle  set  out 
rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Westbrooke  Hall.  In 
half  an  hour,  they  were  near  the  boundaries  of 
the  park,  which  was  encircled  by  a  high  wall. 

As  they  drew  nearer,  they  all  at  once  discov 
ered  a  light  vehicle,  to  which  a  single  horse 
was  attached,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the 
wall,  at  a  point  where  the  btones  had  partially 
fallen,  and  left  a  gap. 

Through  this  gap  two  men  were  seen  lifting 


44  THE  MIDNIGHT  VISITOR. 

a  third  wrapped  in  a  clouk,  and  apparently  in 
the  last  stages  of  intoxication. 

"  Stand  up,  my  hearty  1 "  said  one  of  the 
men,  with  a  low  laugh  ;  "  this  way  yon  have  of 
going  and  getting  yourself  as  drunk  as  a  beast 
is  not  according  to  good  morals,  old  fellow! 
There !  use  your  legs  and  come  on.  Sir  Mur- 
daugh  is  waiting  for  you." 

"  Be  quiet,  and  hush  your  gab,  mate,"  said 
the  other ;  "  who  knows  who  may  be  prowling 
about?" 

"After  midnight?" 

"  Tes.    There  are  the  gypsy  people." 

"Well,  they  do  hate  Sir  Murdaugh." 

"There,  again.  I  have  often  warned  you 
about  calling  names;  stop  it!  Bear  a  hand 
there." 

"  You  are  right,  mate.  Come  on,  aged  ine 
briate!" 

And  the  two  men  half  dragged,  half  carried 
the  third  along  a  path  through  the  shrubbery, 
toward  the  hall. 

Earle  and  the  gypsy  followed,  walking  noise 
lessly  and  keeping  in  the  shadow. 

As  they  approached  the  hall,  a  low  growl  from 
a  kennel,  where  a  h^und  seemed  to  be  chained, 
greeted  them,  and  a  moment  afterward*  the 


THE  MIDNIGHT   '-'ISITOR.  43 

door  of  the  hall  opened  slightly,  and  revealed 
the  figure  of  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  clad  in 
his  long  dressing-gown,  and  holding  a  light  in 
his  hand. 

Earle  and  the  gypsy  had  reached  the  thicket 
near  which  the  former  had  encountered  the 
gamekeeper.  In  this  they  ensconsed  them 
selves,  and  could  see  everything. 

Sir  Murdaugh  shot  a  keen  glance  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  three  figures. 

"  Make  haste  ! "  he  said,  impatiently. 

"  Come  on,  old  gentleman!  "  muttered  one  ol 
the  men  to  the  one  between  them. 

The  figure  staggered,  and  would  have  fallen 
had  not  the  two  men  held  it  up  by  main  force. 
As  it  staggered,  the  hat  fell  off,  the  cloak 
dropped  to  the  ground;  and  the  light  revealod 
all. 

The  figure  was  clad  in  a  shroud,  and  the  j 
hwl  fallen. 

It  was  a  corpse. 


CHAPTER  VIL 


WHAT  EARLE  SAW  FBOM  HIS  HIDING-PLACE. 

' ARLE  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of 
his  companion.  On  the  firm  lips  of  the 
young  sailor  the  moonlight  revealed  a 
sarcastic  smile. 

"  Look  1 "  he  whispered;  "  there  is  the  sort  of 
goods  in  which  our  friend  deals." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  gypsy,  whose  dark  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  face  of    the  corpse,    "  Is   it 
another  murder?" 
"No." 
"What?" 

u  I  will  tell  you  when  there  is  less  danger 
of  being  overheard." 

In  fact,  the  two   men   carrying  the  corpse 
had  paused  to  listen.    Something  seemed  to 
excite  their  suspicion. 
"  What  is  tta  matter?"  came  in  low,  haisb 


WHAT  EARLE   SAW.  47 

tones  from    the   lips  of   Sir  Murdangh   West- 
brooke. 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  noise,  sir,"  said  one 
of  the  men. 

"A  noise?" 

"In  the  thicket  there."  And  releasing  the 
arm  of  the  corpse,  the  speaker  took  two  step* 
toward  the  spot  where  Earle  and  the  gypsy 
were  concealed. 

Earle  laid  his  hand  upon  his  poniard.  The 
hand  of  the  gypsy  in  like  manner  stole  be 
neath  his  ragged  jacket  and  grasped  some 
thing — a  knife,  probably.  There  was  no  pos 
sibility  of  retreating.  It  was  necessary,  they 
felt,  to  await  the  attack  and  defend  them 
selves. 

But  the  danger  quickly  passed. 

"  Nonsense  ! "  came  in  same  low,  harsh  tones 
from  the  baronet ;  "  all  fancy  !  Theie  is  no 
one  there.  It  is  one  in  the  morning.  Bring  in 
that!" 

And  with  his  long,  lean  finger  he  pointed 
to  the  corpse. 

The  man  returned,  muttering  something, 
and  again  assisted  his  companion  in  dragging 
—  for  they  rather  dragged  than  carried  —  the 
body  into  the  mansion.  The  lugubrious  group 


48  WHAT  EARLR  SAW. 

with  their  funereal  burden  passed  through  &e 
great  doorway — it  closed  —  save  the  glimmer 
through  one  of  the  windows,  there  was  now 
no  sign  of  life  throughout  the  establishment. 

"  Well,"  said  Earle,  "  we  have  stumbled  upon 
something  like  an  adventure.  We  did  well  in 
coming  to  visit  the  park.  There  is  nothing 
like  knowing  the  private  affairs  of  a  man  you 
are  to  have  dealings  with  1 " 

"Histl"  returned  the  gypsy  suddenly.  I 
heard  a  noise !  " 

"A  noise?  — Where?" 

uln  the  wood  yonder,  behind  the  house." 

Both  listened.  All  at  once  footsteps  became 
audible  —  the  firm  tread  of  a  man,  walking  on 
the  thick  turf,  which  gave  forth  a  muffled  and 
lull  response. 

"  He  has  arrived  I  "  whispered  Earle. 

"Who?" 

"The  man  who  tracked  me  and  overheard 
tfhat  was  said  yonder  —  Wilde  ? " 

u  He  will  discover  us  1 " 

u  It  is  probable,  as  he  has  one  of  the  hounds 
jrith  him." 

"Where  is  the  dog?" 

As  he  spoke,  Wilde  appeared  in  the  moon 
light,  emerging  from  the  shadow  of  the  wood. 


WHAT  EARLE  SA>V.  49 

f  >eside  him  ran  the  great  wolf-hound,  losing 
and  uttering  suppressed  growls. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  the  man  was  heard 
to  say  IE  a  low  voice ;  "  there  is  no  one  here, 
Wolf." 

The  dog  continued  his  quest,  uneasy,  evi 
dently,  and  more  suspicious  than  his  master. 

"Come  here,"  said  Wilde;  "you  are  losing 
your  time.  The  first  thing  is  to  see  Sir  Mur- 
daugh.  Then  we  will  come  out  and  go  th< 
rounds,  Wolf." 

With  these  words  he  called  the  dog  to  him, 
and  they  disappeared  behind  the  mansion. 

"  Now  is  the  time  to  get  off,"  whispered  the 

gypsy. 

"No:  now  is  the  time  to  discover  more," 
returned  Earle,  coolly.  "  Go  deeper  into  the 
thicket ;  no  dog  can  find  you  there,  if  you  lie 
down  and  keep  quiet.  I  am  going  to  the  main 
top  to  look  out." 

And  with  a  short  laugh,  which  revealed  his 
white  teeth,  the  young  sailor  emerged  from 
covert,  crossed  the  moonlit  expanse  in  front 
of  the  house,  and,  climbing  with  the  agility  of 
a  cat,  an  enormous  oak  whose  foliage  brushed 
the  walls  of  the  house,  concealed  himself 
among  the  leaves. 
4 


50  WHAT  EARLE  SAW. 

From  the  lofty  perch  which  he  had  thai 
reached,  and  where  he  sustained  himself  by  a 
firm  grasp  upon  one  of  the  lesser  boughs,  the 
young  man  could  see  into  the  establishment, 
one  of  whose  window-shutters  was  open. 

The  apartment  into  which  he  looked  was  not 
that  which  had  witnessed  the  interview  between 
himself  and  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke.  It  wa«i 
a  much  smaller  room  on  the  left,  plainly  fur 
nished.  In  the  centre  was  a  great  arm-chair. 
Seated  bolt  upright  in  this  chair,  with  grinning 
teeth,  was  the  corpse. 

Sir  Murdaugh  was  standing  erect,  candle  in 
hand.  In  his  long  dressing-gown,  dark  and 
draping  his  person  from  head  to  foot,  he  re 
sembled  a  Roman  augur,  about  to  perform 
some  mysterious  rite.  His  face  was  pallid,  and 
as  he  gazed  at  the  body,  the  grin  habitual 
with  him  distorted  his  features,  revealing 
clearly  the  sharp  tusks  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth.  His  sombre  glance  seemed  to  gloat 
on  the  lugubrious  object.  Earle  shuddered 
almost  The  effect  produced  by  the  expres 
sion  of  the  pale  face  was  that  of  the  presence 
of  one  of  the  deadly  cobras  which  the  sailor 
had  seen  in  the  tropics  —  a  mixture  of  fear 
and  loathing. 


WHAT  EARLE  SAW.  51 

The  two  men  had  retreated,  hat  in  hand,  to 
die  door,  and  waited. 

As  Earle,  from  his  hiding-place  in  the  oak, 
took  in  the  details  of  this  singular  tableau,  the 
door  opened  and  Wilde  entered,  followed  by  bin 
wolf-hound. 


CHAPTER  VTEL 

THE  WOLF-HOUND. 

'HE    baronet  and    the   shaggy  Hercules 
exchanged  rapid  glances. 

Wilde   made  a  slight  movement  of 
the  head  in  the  direction  of    the  two 
men,  and,  as  though  comprehending  af 
once  the  meaning  of  this  sign,  Sir  Murdaugh 
Westbrooke  pointed  to  the  door,  said  something 
to  the  men,  and  they  disappeared. 

Wilde  then  rapidly  approached  his  mastei 
His  face  was  dark  and  scowling.     He  spoke 
rapidly,  with  animated  gestures,  pointing,  as  he 
did  so,  in  the  direction  of  the  pool  near  the 
boundary  of  the  park. 

As  he  spoke,  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke's 
face  grew  as  black  as  night.  His  bushy  brows 
were  knit  over  his  snake-like  eyes,  and  he  lis 
tened  with  unconcealed  emotion. 


THE  WOLF-HOUND.  53 

The  sailor,  in  his  oak,  uttered  a  low  laugh. 

"  The  worthy  pair  are  discussing  things,"  he 
said.  "The  man  is  telling  his  master  of  the 
mysterious  interview  between  the  mysterious 
stranger  and  the  gypsy,  at  the  pool.  What  will 
result  ?  Let  us  look  on,  since  it  is  impossible  to 
listen." 

The  interview  continued  for  about  half  an 
hour.  Then  the  baronet  was  seen  to  point 
through  the  window  toward  the  front  of  the 
house. 

The  sailor  saw  that  gesture,  and  his  marvel 
lous  acumen  told  him  that  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  was  informing  Wilde  of  the  supposed 
noise  heard  by  the  men  when  bringing  in  the 
dead  body. 

The  Hercules  turned  quickly  toward  the 
door.  As  he  did  so,  he  made  a  sign  to  the 
wolf-hound,  and  the  animal,  as  though  under 
standing  perfectly,  disappeared  at  a  bound. 

A  moment  afterwards,  Earle's  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  low  and  continuous  growling 
beneath  the  oak.  He  locked  down  and  saw 
the  dog  coursing  to  and  fro,  and  nosing  the 
earth. 

By  a  strange  instinct,  the  wolf-hound  paid  no 
attention  to  the  traces  left  by  the  men  and  their 


54  THE  WOLF-HOUNb. 

burden.  Something  seemed  to  draw  him  irrft 
sistibly  toward  the  oak,  in  which  Earle  was  con 
cealed.  Every  circuit  which  he  made  brought 
him  nearer ;  at  last  he  reached  the  tree.  HIB 
nose  rested  for  a  moment  upon  the  trunk,  and 
he  snuffed  at  it  in  silence.  Then  his  head  rose, 
his  dark  eye  glittered  in  the  moonlight.  He 
caught  sight  of  Earle,  half -lost  in  the  foliage, 
and  uttered  a  long,  continuous,  and  furious 
bay. 

As  the  deep  and  prolonged  alarm  issued 
from  the  hound's  lips,  Earle  felt  that  he  was 
lost.  There  was  no  possibility  of  remaining 
undiscovered:  the  hound  had  descried  him; 
the  hoarse  bay  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was 
the  sound  uttered  by  animals  who  have  dis 
covered  their  prey,  and  are  furious  to  leap 
upon  it,  and  tear  it  limb  from  limb.  Earle  felt 
that  Wilde  and  the  baronet  would  understand 
all  in  a  moment,  and  throwing  a  rapid  glance 
through  the  window,  he  saw  that  his  fears  were 
well  founded 

No  sooner  had  the  hoarse  cry  of  the  hound 
reached  his  ear,  than  the  man  Wilde  started 
and  turned  toward  the  door. 

Sir  Murdaugh,  who  had  gone  toward  the  body, 
turned  as  quickly. 


THE   WOLF-HOUND.  56 

Wilde  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
nttered  some  hasty  words,  and,  drawing  a  hunt 
ing  knife  from  his  girdle,  rushed  from  the 
room. 

Earle  saw  that  all  was  lost,  unless  he  acted 
with  decision.  He  did  not  hesitate.  The  in 
mates  of  Westbrooke  Hall  were  persons,  evi 
dently,  who  did  not  fear  bloodshed,  and  were 
apt  to  act  without  ceremony.  His  life  would  iu 
all  probability  pay  the  forfeit  of  his  daring  in 
vasion  of  the  precincts,  and  without  a  moment's 
hesitation  Earle  slid  down  the  tree,  passed  from 
bough  to  bough,  let  his  body  fall  from  the  low 
est  limb,  and  sprung  upon  the  hound,  who  in 
turn  darted  at  his  enemy's  throat. 

Earle  felt  the  hot  breath  of  the  animal  on 
his  face,  and  the  sharp  teeth  touched  his  throat. 

The  struggle  was  desperate,  but  did  not  con 
tinue  long.  Before  the  teeth  of  the  hound 
could  close  upon  the  throat  of  Earle,  he  drew 
his  poniard,  plunged  it  into  the  animal's  body 
behind  the  shoulder,  and  hurling  the  dog  from 
him,  rushed  into  the  thicket  just  as  Wilde  t 
reached  the  spot,  attracted  by  the  last  cry  of  the 
dying  wolf-hound. 

The  Hercules  uttered  a  growl  so  savage  that  it 
resembled  that  of  a  tiger.  Drawing  his  knife, 


56  THE  WOLF-HOUND. 

he  hastened  in  the  direction  of  a  rustling  which 
he  heard  in  the  thicket.  Head  down,  like  a 
mad  bull,  he  burst  through  every  obstacle, 
breathing  heavily,  uttering  curses,  his  eyes  glar 
ing  with  rage. 

But  the  noise  receded  —  ceased.  Coming  to 
an  open  space,  he  saw  through  a  vista  two  shad 
ows  clear  the  park  wall  and  vanish. 

Earle  and  the  gypsy  had  effected  their  escape, 
and  were  lost  in  the  great  Westbrooke  woods. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


HOW 


STAGGERED    AND    FELL,    UTTERING   4 
CRY  OF  TK1UMPH. 


MORNING  full  of  brilliant  sunshine 
succeeded  the  night  in  which  the  events 
which  we  have  just  described  took  place, 
It  was  one  of  those  days  of  autumn 
which  seem  to  make  of  the  dull  earth  a  fairy 
realm,  all  splendor,  glory,  and  delight  ^when  the 
forests  blaze  in  orange,  purple,  crimson,  and  all 
colors  of  the  rainbow  ;  when  the  blue  sky  bears 
upon  its  bosom  argosies  of  white-sailed  clouds  ; 
and  the  sigh  of  the  pines,  the  laughter  of  the 
breeze,  the  long  ai.d  musical  murmur  of  the 
waves,  make  up  a  symphony  sweeter  than  ever 
Mozart,  Verdi,  or  Rossini  dreamed. 

From    the    fishing  village  of    Oldport,   St. 
George's  Channel  was  seen  to  roll  its  azure 

9ft) 


68  ttfE  CRY  Of  TRIUMPH. 

waves  in  the  fresh  breeze ;  and  these  blue  bil 
lows  as  they  reached  the  rocks  in  the  small  har 
bor,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  gigantic  headland, 
broke  into  snowy  spray,  which  glittered  in  the 
sunshine. 

Dotting  the  restless  surface,  covered  with 
spangles,  and  growing  more  and  more  restless 
and  brilliant  as  the  breeze  freshened,  were  a 
number  of  fishing-boats,  with  small  triangular 
sails,  which  the  wind  filled,  driving  the  barks 
rapidly  before  it. 

As  the  morning  drew  on,  the  breeze  fresh 
ened  still  more  and  more,  and  began  to  blow 
a  gale ;  the  fishing-boats  were  seen  hastening 
landward ;  then  as  they  approached  they  were 
tossed  dangerously  aloft;  as  they  reached  the 
shore,  and  were  dragged  up  and  rescued, 
the  roughest  water-dogs  of  the  coast  were 
evidently  well  pleased  to  be  ashore,  and  not 
erposed  in  their  small  skiffs  1o  the  gathering 
tempest. 

One  sail-boat  alone  was  visible  now,  beating 
tip  toward  the  headland. 

This  craft,  even  at  a  distance,  was  seen  not 
to  be  a  fishing-smack,  but  a  pleasure-boat,  gayly 
painted,  and  with  ladies  on  board ;  for,  as  the 
boat  veered  and  danced  on  the  waves,  her 


THE  CttJ   Of  TRIUMPH.  5P 

bright  sides  and  the  floating  scarfs  of  women 
were  plainly  visible. 

The  wind  grew  stronger  eveiy  moment,  and 
in  a  group  upon  the  strand,  the  rough  "  wolves," 
AS  the  fishermen  were  called,  watched  the  boat 
which  careened  dangerously  as  it  flew  onward^ 
making  straight  for  shore. 

"  That  much  sail  is  enough  to  sink  her,"  said 
a  huge  "  wolf  "  in  a  ragged  pea-jacket,  and  with 
hair  growing  down  nearly  to  his  eyes. 

"  The  rudder  is  gone,"  said  a  calm  voice  be 
nind  the  speaker. 

The  "  wolf  "  turned  round  with  a  scowl.    Hi* 
eyes  fell  upon  the  neatly-dressed  figure  of  Mi 
Delamere,  amateur  fisherman. 

"What  are  you  a-saying  there?"  he  growled, 
contemptuously. 

"  I  say,"  said  Delamere,  otherwise  our  friend 
the  sailor,  Earle,  "  that  the  rudder  is  gone,  and 
the  man  in  that  boat  is  a  sailor,  who  is  steering 
her  ashore  with  his  brains,  as  he  has  nothing 
else." 

A  low  growl  came  from  the  "  wolf." 

"  Look  here,  my  hoppadandy,"  he  said,  turn 
ing  to  Earle  and  clenching  his  fist;  "who  arc 
you  that  come  here  to  larn  old  sailors  theii 
business?" 


60  THE  CAY  OF  TRIUMPH. 

He  advanced  threateningly  upon  the  young 
man  as  he  spoke.  Earle  did  not  move, 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  shouted  the  "  wolf,"  raising 
his  arm  to  strike  at  him.  "Fll  smash  your 
headpiece  if — " 

The  sentence  was  not  concluded. 

Earle  planted  his  left  foot  three  feet  in  ad 
vance  of  him,  followed  rapidly  with  his  right, 
and  as  the  ball  of  the  i'oot  touched  the  earth 
his  right  fist  darted  out,  backed  by  the  whole 
weight  of  his  body  thrown  \vith  it,  and  struck 
the  giant  exactly  where  the  low  shag  of  haii 
terminated  nearly  between  his  eyes. 

The  "wolf"  fell  as  though  a  battering-ram 
had  struck  him. 

But,  rising,  stunned  and  dizzy,  he  rushed  at 
his  opponent. 

In  a  minute  he  was  down  again.  The  rough 
crowd,  whose  sympathies  had  all  been  with  their 
own  representative,  uttered  a  shout  of  admira 
tion  at  the  amateur's  science.  It  was  plain  in 
deed  that  the  slight  stranger  was  a  perfect  mas 
ter  of  the  art  of  boxing,  and  his  adversary,  in 
spite  of  his  size,  was  hesitating  whether  he 
should  renew  the  attack  or  expend  his  remain- 
ing  energies  in  violent  curses,  when  a  cry 
attracted  the  attenion  of  eTeij  one—  a  cry  so 


THE  CRY  OF  TRIUMPH.  61 

rfirill  and  piteous  that  it  thrilled  through  the 
roughest  person  present. 

Earle  glanced  quickly  in  the  direction  of  the 
cry,  that  is,  toward  the  sea.  That  glance  told 
him  all.  The  sail-boat  had  run  before  the  wind 
with  the  rapidity  of  a  dry  leaf  borne  onward  by 
the  breeze — had  nearly  reached  the  land;  but 
at  two  hundred  yards  from  shore  had  struck  the 
reef,  capsized,  and  a  man  and  two  women  were 
seen  clinging  to  the  frail  mast  and  the  ropes, 
which  rose  and  fell  and  beat  upon  the  threaten 
ing  surge. 

The  cry  had  issued  from  the  women,  and  the 
crowd  was  instantly  in  commotion. 

A  boat  was  launched,  and  two  of  the  "wolves'' 
sprung  into  it.  At  fifty  yards  from  the  shore 
it  capsized,  and  the  men  only  reached  land 
again  by  vigorous  swimming. 

A  second  attempt  was  made.  In  this  case  the 
boat  swamped  at  twenty  yards  from  shore* 

A  glance  toward  the  overturned  sail-boat 
showed  that  the  strength  of  the  young  ladies  — 
for  such  they  were  now  seen  to  be — was  rapidly 
deserting  them.  The  waves  beat  them  cruelly 
in  the  face,  and  tore  at  them.  The  wind  roared 
at  them,  nearly  wrenching  the  frail  hands  from 
the  mast  The  man,  clinging  to  the  gunwale, 


62  THE  CRY  OF  TRIUMPH. 

conld  afford  them  no  assistance.  In  ten  in  inn  tea, 
it  wae  plain,  they  would  desert  their  Lold,  and 
the  surf  would  engulf  them. 

Suddenly,  the  crowd,  who  had  been  nearly 
paralyzed,  was  seen  to  divide. 

In  the  open  space,  Earle  was  seen,  without  hat 
coat,  boots,  waistcoat,  or  cravat, — a  sailor  in  shirt 
and  pantaloons, — with  a  hatchet  in  his  belt  and 
a  rope  the  thickness  of  a  man's  finger  tied 
around  his  waist. 

"  Stand  back  I "  his  clear  voice  rang  out. 

And  throwing  himself  into  the  boiling  mass, 
he  struck  out  vigorously  for  the  wrecked  boat. 

As  he  rose  and  fell  like  a  cork  upon  the 
waves,  the  crowd  shouted,  following  him  with 
eyes  of  admiration.  Every  instant  they  ex 
pected  to  see  him  disappear,  and  held  their 
breath  as  he  sank  in  the  hollows.  As  he  rose 
again,  swimming  like  a  giant,  the  roar  of 
voices  sounded  above  the  storm. 

It  is  a  splended  spectacle  to  see  man  contend 
ing  with  the  forces  of  nature.  The  sailor  was 
defying  the  sea  lashed  to  fury.  The  waves 
struck  him  with  their  huge  hands,  buffeting  and 
howling  at  him — and  he  went  on.  The  spray 
cut  his  face  and  filled  his  eyes,  blinding  him  — • 
he  went  on.  Hurled  into  the  hollows  of 


THE   CRY  OF   TRIUMPH.  68 

the  billows,  he  rose  like  a  leaf,  cutting  the 
foam,  The  crowd  hurrahed,  and  held  their 
breath,  and  ran  into  the  sea,  grasping  the  rope 
affixed  to  the  sailor's  waist. 

Suddenly  a  shout,  which  seemed  to  drowr  the 
thunder  of  the  wind,  rose. 

Earle  had  reached  the  boat  and  affixed  the 
rope  to  a  ring  in  the  ornamental  headpiece. 
Then  he  tore  the  rigging  from  the  mast,  bounc 
the  young  ladies  by  the  body  to  the  slight  rail 
around  the  deck ;  cut  away  the  mast ;  and,  ris 
ing  up  in  the  water,  waved  his  arm  toward  the 
shore. 

At  that  signal  the  crowd  shouted,  and  began 
to  pull.  The  disabled  craft  obeyed  the  rope. 
Rolling,  tossing,  rising,  falling,  groaning,  creak 
ing  in  all  its  timbers,  it  approached  the  shore. 

But  the  danger  was  coming.  Within  twenty 
yards  of  land  an  enormous  wave  rushed  at  the 
prey  about  to  escape,  and  with  one  blow  broke 
the  frail  craft  into  a  dozen  pieces. 

The  young  ladies  disappeared,  and  a  great 
wave  rolled  over  them. 

Then  they  reappeared  as  suddenly.  With 
his  hatchet  Earle  cut  the  ropes  which  secured 
them  to  the  pieces  of  wreck ;  the  man  of  the 
boat  seized  one,  and  Earle  seized  the  other; 


64  THE   CRY  OF   TRIUMPH, 

five  minutes  afterwards,  the  fishermen  had  re» 
cued  the  former ;  and  then  Earle  appeared, 
staggering,  panting,  struggling  to  reach  dry 
ground,  the  inanimate  form  of  a  girl  clasped  in 
his  arms. 

The  fishermen  hastened  toward  him.  A 
great  wave  hurled  itself — the  last  defiance  of 
the  sea  —  in  their  faces,  and  forced  them  back. 
But  that  wave  drove  Earle  onward. 

As  it  receded,  he  was  on  firm  earth. 

With  his  left  arm  around  the  girl,  he  raised 
his  right  aloft  as  though  waving  his  hat, 
uttered  a  low  cry  of  triumph,  and,  staggering, 
fell  upon  the  sand,  his  head  upon  the  bosom  oi 
the  girl. 


CHAPTER  X. 


HOW  THE  SAILOR  EAKLE  BECAME  ONE  OF  TH» 
"WOLVES." 

?N  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  Earle 
was  about  to  issue  from  the  hostelry  of 
the  Cat  and  JBett,  when  a  thundering 
knock  at  his  door  made  him  turn  quick 
ly  toward  a  brace  of  pistols  lying  upon  the 
table. 

"  Has  my  good  friend  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  perchance  gained  an  inkling  of  my  real 
character,  and  of  what  is  in  store  for  him?" 
he  muttered.     And  turning  to  the  door, — 
"  Come  in  ! "  he  said. 

As  he  uttered  the  words,  he  cocked  one  of  hia 
pistols,  prepared  for  whatever  was  to  come. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  huge  "  wolf  "  with 
whom  he  had  fought  in  the  morning,  entered. 
6  (66) 


66         HOW  EARjuE  BECAME  A  "WOLF" 

His  head  nearly  touched  the  low  ceiling, 
lite  countenance  was  a  great  mass  of  shaggy 
luir.  Low  down  on  his  forehead  grew  a  similar 
mass,  and  he  resembled  rather  a  wild  animal 
than  a  human  being. 

"I  be  come  to  see  you,  master,"  said  the 
wolf. 

"  And  who  are  you  ? "  retorted  Earle. 

"  My  name  be  Goliath,  master,"  returned  the 
Anak,  "  and  the  wolves  are  waiting  to  catch  you 
up  and  make  you  one  of  us." 

Earle  gazed  at  the  speaker,  and  saw  that  this 
man  was  a  friend.  If  there  was  any  doubt  of 
the  fact,  his  next  words  removed  it. 

"I  felt  your  hand  to-day,  master,"  said 
Goliath :  "  it  is  heavy,  but  I  want  to  feel  it 
again." 

As  he  spoke,  Goliath  extended  a  paw  as  large 
nearly  as  a  ham,  and  half  covered  with  hair. 

«  Good  1 "  said  Earle ;  "  there  it  is." 

And  he  reached  out  his  own.  It  was  small, 
bronzed,  and  had  the  grasp  of  a  vice. 

The  giant  winced. 

"  It  hits  hard,  and  it  hits  fair,"  he  said.  "  I  be 
•orry  I  quarrelled,  master ;  but  I  am  going  to 
make  up  that." 

Suddenly  he  turned  up  Earle's  cuff.    A  blue  . 


HOW  EARLE  BECAME  A  "WOLF."         37 

anchor  was  tattooed,  sailor-fashion,  on  the  white 
wrist. 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Goliath ;  "  nobody  but  a 
gailor  would  'a'  ventured  as  you  did  to-day." 

"  "Well,  I  am  a  sailor." 

"  Which  makes  it  all  the  better ;  you  knocked 
me  down,  and  after  that  I  would  'a'  fought  you. 
You  went  out  in  the  surf  —  and  the  'longshore 
men  are  a-going  to  make  you  a  wolf  1" 

As  he  spoke  a  loud  roar  was  heard  in  the 
rtreet  without,  —  evidently  uttered  by  the 
wolves. 

Earle  laughed,  and  muttered,  — 

"  A  strange  life  this  of  mine !  —  to  be  made 
a  chief  of  the  Iroquois  in  Canada,  and  one  of 
the  wolves  in  Wales ! " 

The  roar  was  again  heard. 

"  The  wolves  be  waiting,  master  I "  Baid 
Goliath. 

"Keady!"  said  Earle. 

And  walking  beside  the  giant,  he  descended  if  > 
the  street,  where  a  great  crowd  of  tattered,  fierce- 
looking  and  shaggy-bearded  'longshoremen  were 
gathered  with  intent  to  do  him  honor. 

"  Stop  your  howling ! "  shouted  Goliath, 
u  and  be  orderly,  will  you ! " 

The  roar  ceased  for  a  moment,  but  was  ra- 


68         HOW  EARLE  BECAME  A 


Burned  an  instant  afterwards  with  fresh 
The  noise  seemed  to  excite  the  crowd.  Frorr 
hoarse  shouts  they  proceeded  to  t/jtion.  Earla 
suddenly  found  himself  caught  up,  borne  aloft 
in  triumph,  and  then  his  captors  at  the  head  of 
whom  was  Goliath,  surged  into  the  low-pitched 
common-room  of  the  inn,  where  Earle  was 
placed  upon  a  table  in  the  midst. 

At  his  side,  on  the  floor  stood  Goliah,  one 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  What  be  your  name,  master  ?  "  said  the 
giant. 

A  singular  sentiment  moved  the  sailor.  Con 
tent  to  assume  a  false  name  with  indifferent  per 
sons  or  enemies,  —  with  these  rough  friends  it 
was  different.  Something  uncontrollable  within 
him  made  him  answer,  — 

"Edmond  Earle!" 

At  that  reply  a  man  who  had  been  seated  in 
a  dark  corner  started,  rose  suddenly,  and  went 
out  of  the  inn.  As  he  disappeared,  one  of  the 
longshoremen  scowled  after  him  and  laid  his 
hand  on  his  knife.  The  man  who  had  gone  out 
was  "Wilde,  the  emissary  of  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  ;  and  Earle,  in  thus  uttering  his  real 
name,  had  committed  a  terrible  imprudence. 

He  did  not  see  Wilde,  however.    The  wr  '*« 


ffOW  EARLE  BECAME    4  'WOLF*         69 

were  admitting  him,  with  rude  ceremonies,  into 
the  pale  of  their  order. 

A  gigantic  beaker  of  usquebaugh  was  first 
raised  to  his  lips;  each  drank  from  it  in  turn, 
and  then  the  residue  was  p>ured  upon  the 
floor. 

As  the  liquor  fell  from  the  beaker,  Goliath 
exclaimed,  in  his  voice  of  thunder,  — 

"  So  the  blood  of  all  who  hunt  the  wolves 
shall  be  poured  out ! " 

And  clapping  Earle  on  the  shoulder,  — 

"From  to-day  you  be  a  wolf,  master!"  he 
said. 

The  wolves  roared  in  approbation. 

"  Join  hands ! "  thundered  Goliath. 

At  the  word  the  wild  figures  linked  hands 
and  began  to  dance  around  the  table.  Earle 
had  never  witnessed  so  strange  a  spectacle. 
There  was  something  at  once  ferocious  and 
grotesque  in  these  ragged  figures  circling  the 
table  in  their  mad  dance.  Three  times  they 
tfms  whirled  around  him,  and  then  tne  circle 
broke  and  they  again  caught  the  sailor  up  on 
Iheir  shoulders.  All  resistance  was  impossible. 
He  vras  borne  forth  and  carried  through  the 
itreets  in  triumph. 

When,  an  hour  afterwards,  he  was  realea&ed, 


70         HOW  EARLE    BECAME  A  "WOLF* 

and  woke  as  it  were  from  this  orgy  of  dream 
land,  he  saw  Goliath  standing  beside  him,  and 
heard  the  giant  say,  — 

"  Ton  be  one  of  us  now,  master ;  and  woe  be 
to  him  who  lays  his  hand  on  you  1 " 

At  the  same  moment  the  man  Wilde  entered 
Westbrooke  Hall,  and  hastened  to  the  baronet. 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  master. 

"I  have  something  terrible  to  report,  sir!" 
said  the  man. 

"What?" 

And  the  baronet  rose,  as  if  on  steel  springs. 

"  The  person  who  visited  you  here  last  night, 
sir  —  " 

Wilde  paused. 

"  Speak  1 "  shouted  the  baronet,  shaking  him 
by  the  collar. 

"  IB  —  who  would  have  believed  it  —  1 " 

The  baronet's  hand   passed    to   the    man'a 
throat. 

"Is  —  is  —  "  muttered  Wilde,  in  a  half -stran 
gled  voice  —  "  Edmond  —  Earle  1 " 

The  baronet  turned  ghastly  pale,  and  stared 
at  the  speaker  with  stupefaction. 

"Edmond  —  Earle!"  he  said  in  a  lo\» 
"^Edmond  Earle?" 


EARLE  BECAME  A  "WOLF."         71 


"  The  same,  sir.  There  was  something  famil 
iar  in  his  look." 

The  baronet's  eyes  blazed. 

"  Then  he  is  not  dead,  after  all  1  " 

"  No,  since  we  have  seen  him  sir,  and  I  have 
heard  him  give  his  name  as  Earle." 

In  a  few  words  the  man  related  what  had 
occurred  at  the  inn. 

"Yes  —  I  see  now  —  I  was  deceived,"  said 
the  baronet  in  a  low  tone.  "  He  is  here  —  cool 
and  determined  —  ready,  and  he  knows  my 
secret  Fool  !  —  from  this  moment  he  is  dead  I 
Dead  men  tell  no  tales." 


CHAPTER  XL 

KLLJNOB   MAVERICK, 

|  HEN  broken  in  npon  by  the  wolves, 
Earle  had  been  preparing  to  take  a 
ride. 

An  hour  after  the  ending  of  the  cere 
mony  which  inducted  him  into  the  band  of 
u  wolves,"  he  mounted  a  horse  procured  at  the 
inn,  and  set  out  on  his  ride. 

As  he  went  on,  a  singular  emotion  agitated 
him.  The  occasion  of  this  was  the  name  of  the 
gentleman  and  ladies  whom  b*  had  rescued. 
This  name  was  Maverick. 

Maverick  1  Could  it  then  be  the  head  of  this 
family  whom  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  had 
murdered?  Had  no  steps  been  taken  to  dis 
cover  the  criminal  ?  Into  what  black  mystery 
was  he,  Edmond  Eaue,  about  to  plunge  ?  He 


ELLltfOR  MAVZRtCR.  73 


had  received  the  warm  thanks  of  the  gentleman 
and  two  young  ladies  whom  he  had  rescued. 
They  had  urged  "  Mr.  Delamere,"  in  the  most 
pressing  manner,  to  visit  them  at  their  home, 
"Maverick  House."  The  road  had  been 
pointed  out  to  the  sailor  ;  and,  emerging  from 
the  fishing  village,  he  already  saw  the  mansion 
on  its  lofty  hill,  about  a  league  distant. 

He  soon  reached  the  great  gate,  and  riding  up 
an  avenue,  dismounted  and  gave  his  bridle  to  a 
servant.  Maverick  House  was  ancient,  but 
cheerful  and  inviting.  Dogs  were  basking  in 
the  sunshine  on  the  long  portico,  where  the  light 
filtrating  through  variegated  foliage  threw  its 
twinkling  shadows;  and  on  the  steps  stood, 
smiling  cordially  and  ready  to  welcome  Earle,  the 
gentleman  of  the  boat,  Arthur  Maverick. 

Arthur  Maverick  was  a  young  man  of  about 
Earle's  age;  thin,  pale,  and  sad-looking,  but 
courteous  and  cordial.  He  welcomed  the  sailor 
warmly,  and  conducted  him  into  the  mansion, 
whose  appointments  were  at  once  substantial  and 
elegant.  In  a  cage  a  linnet  was  singing  ;  old 
dogs  wandered  about  ;  and  a  lapdog,  small  and 
hideous,  which  made  him  immensely  valuable, 
ran  yelping  to  announce  the  visitor  to  the  two 
young  ladies  whose  lives  he  had  saved. 


74  EttltfCll 


Ellinor  Maverick,  the  eldest,  was  tal  ,  with 
raven  hair  and  dark  eyes,  instinct  with  a  subtle 
fascination.  The  great  eyes  melted  or  fired  ;  the 
red  lips,  full  and  moist,  curled  satirically  or  were 
wreathed  with  dazzling  smiles  ;  in  every  out 
line  of  her  rounded  and  supple  figure  there  was 
the  superb  beauty  of  the  animal  —  the  tigress 
you  were  apt  to  think  ;  and  with  only  a  slight 
effort  of  the  imagination  you  might  fancy  the 
beautiful  creature  "  in  act  to  spring." 

Rose  Maverick  was  altogether  different 
About  nineteen,  —  Ellinor  was  older,  —  slender 
brown-haired,  with  soft,  violet  eyes,  and  an  ex 
quisite  expression  of  candor  and  goodness 
Rose  made  children  and  old  ladies  love  her, 
and  men  take  no  notice  of  her.  The  latter  ivent 
crazy  about  Ellinor,  and  did  not  even  look  at 
Rose.  One  was  the  dazzling  sunlight,  the  other 
the  pensive  moonlight.  From  the  first  moment 
Earle's  eyes  were  dazzled  ;  and  on  his  return  to 
the  inn  that  night,  a  strange  throbbing  of  the 
heart  accompanied  his  recollection  of  the  superb 
Ellinor. 

On  the  next  day  he  went  to  Maverick  House 
again,  and  on  the  next,  and  the  next 

lie  was  fascinated.  That  term  best  expresses 
his  lentiment  towards  Ellinor  Maverick.  It 


ELLINOR  MAVERICK.  Tl 

qrould  oe  incorrect  to  say  that  he  loved  her; 
he  was  crazy  about  her,  and  the  great  melting 
or  blazing  eyes  had  wrought  the  charm. 

At  times  his  neglect  of  the  important  object 
which  had  brought  him  to  the  coast  of  Pem 
brokeshire  weighed  heavily  upon  his  spirits. 
Was  he  not  criminally  disobeying  the  orders 
which  he  had  received  ?  Was  he  not  neglecting 
his  sworn  duty  ?  Would  not  the  crew  of  the 
corvette  wonder  what  had  become  of  their  cap 
tain,  and  the  boat  at  the  secret  rendezvous  re 
turn  nightly  to  find  him  still  absent,  paying  no 
attention  to  his  appointment?  Earle  asked 
himself  those  questions,  and  gloomily  shook  his 
head.  Then  he  would  find  himself  beside 
Ellinor  Maverick.  All  his  depression  would 
disappear.  Her  golden  smile  would  shine  upon 
him,  and  the  dazzled  moth  would  circle  careless 
around  the  light,  drawing  every  moment  nearer 
to  his  fate. 

It  came  at  last.  Nearly  ten  days  had  elapsed 
since  his  first  meeting  with  the  young  lady. 
He  had  never  spoken  of  his  Icve  in  plain  words, 
for  an  instant,  but  now  a  little  incident  drove 
him  to  that  proceeding. 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  was  the  occasion 
of  the  denouement  Earle  had  well-nigh  for 


76  EtLINOR  MAVERICK. 

gotten  the  baronet,  and  the  strange  history  re 
lared  by  the  gypsy.  Was  the  "  Giles  Maverick, 
Esquire,"  assassinated  at  the  pool  by  him,  a  rel 
ative  of  the  family  at  Maverick  House  ?  He 
had  intended,  often,  to  ask  that  question,  but 
something  had  always  prevented.  Either  the 
occasion  was  wanting,  or  his  interviews  with 
Arthur  Maverick  had  been  interrupted ;  always 
something  had  intervened  to  withhold  him  from 
ascertaining  the  truth. 

At  last  the  opportunity  came.  He  was  con 
versing  with  Arthur  Maverick  one  evening, 
when  the  latter  pronounced  the  name  of  Sir 
Murdaugh  Westbrooke. 

Earle  looked  keenly  at  him. 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  that  gentleman  ? " 
tie  said. 

"  Very  well,"  was  the  young  man's  reply. 

"  And  he  is  a  friend? " 

Arther  hesitated. 

"  No,"  he  said,  at  length. 

Earle  observed  a  singular  coldness  in  his  com 
panion's  tones,  and  said,  — 

"  You  do  not  like  the  baronet  ?  " 

"  I  feel  some  delicacy  in  replying  to  that 
juestion,"  returned  Arthur  Maverick. 

"Why!  "said  Earle. 


ELLINOR  MAVERICK.  77 

"Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  is  a  suitor  foi 
the  hand  of  my  cousin." 

Earle  started,  and  looked  at  his  companion  in 
utter  astonishment. 

•'Your  cousin?  Sir  Murdaugh  her  suitor  I 
Who  is  your  cousin,  my  dear  Mr.  Maverick  ?  " 

"  Ellinor.  I  thought  you  knew  that  she  was 
not  my  sister,  Mr.  Delamere.  She  is  the  daugh 
ter  of  my  father's  brother.  On  the  death  of 
that  gentleman  she  had  no  home,  and  came  to 
live  with  us  here.  You  seem  astonished." 

"  No,  no,"  stammered  Earle.  "  Sir  Murdaugh 
Westbrooke  a  suitor!  and  for  the  hand  of  — 
why,  'tis  monstrous  !  "  And  his  face  flushed. 
"  That  is  to  say —  may  I  ask  you  a  question,  Mr. 
Maverick  ?  You  speak  of  your  father's  brother; 
he  is  dead,  you  say.  Your  father  also  is  dead, 
is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Some  years  since,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  May  I  ask  the  cause  of  his  death  ? " 

Arthur  Maverick's  head  sank. 

"  He  was  cruelly  murdered,  Mr.  Delameie ; 
and  in  the  most  mysterious  manner  I " 

"  Ah !  a  murder,  sir !  " 

"An  infamous  murder,  by  whom  we  have 
never  discovered.  He  left  home  one  evening 


78  ELL1KOR  MA'SERICX. 

on  horseback,  and  his  dog  returned  some  hour* 
afterwards  without  him.  It  was  a  very  intelli 
gent  blood-hound ;  he  is  still  living,  old  and  al 
most  blind  ;  and  he  led  the  way  to  a  pool  in  the 
woods,  where  my  father's  body  was  discovered." 

Earle  remained  for  some  moments  silent. 
Then  he  said,  — 

"  And  no  clue  has  ever  been  discovered  to  the 
murder  ? " 

"  None  whatever.  It  is  still  wrapped  in  the 
profoundest  mystery." 

Earle  nodded  his  head  coolly,  and  said,  — 

"  Pardon  my  intrusive  questions,  Mr.  Maver 
ick  ;  I  see  they  agitate  you,  and  I  regret  them. 
To  return  to  the  worthy  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke,  your  cousin's  suitor.  Does  she  smile 
upon  him  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  so." 

"  You  say  that  in  the  tone  of  one  who  regrets 
a  thing,"  said  Earle,  whose  heart  suddenly  sank. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  the  baronet,  an  aged  and 
not  agreeable  person,  I  think,  has  succeeded  in 
the  role  of  a  lover  ?  " 

Arthur  Maverick  did  not  reply  for  an  instant, 
then  he  said,  — 

"We  are    not    wealthy,    sir.      Ellinor    hai 


ELLINOR  MAVERICK.  1\ 

nothing;  avid  Sir  Murdaugh  is  a  peison  of  great 
possessions." 

"  Ah !  and  hence  he  succeeds !  Miss  Maver 
ick  barters  her  beauty  against  money.  Pardon 
my  rudeness,  sir ;  I  am  a  sailor,  and  speak 
without  ceremony.  Her  preferred  suitor!  It 
is  monstrous !  It  cannot  be  1  I  will  know  the 
truth!" 

And  leaving  his  companion  abruptly,  Earle 
went  with  pale  face  and  glowing  eyes  toward 
Ellinor  Maverick,  who  was  standing  near  one 
of  the  great  windows  in  the  drawing-room. 

Her  golden  smile  said  "  Come !  you  have 
stayed  away  from  me  too  long !  "  Her  glance 
was  magnetic,  alluring,  almost  passionate,  and 
seemed  to  pierce  through  him. 

f<  Is  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  your  suitor  ? " 
he  said.  "  Answer  that  question  plainly,  I  pray 
you." 

Her  silver  laugh  rang  out. 

"  Yonder  he  comes ;  why  not  ask  nim  ?  "  she 
said,  pointing  through  the  window.  "  Strange 
that  you  and  he  have  never  met  before,  Mr. 
Delamere  I " 


CHAPTER  XTL 


"rr  is  TIME  lw 

FEW  minutes  afterwards  Sir  Murdaugh 
Westbrooke  entered,  clad  as  became  his 
rank,  and  grinning  in  his  most  attract 
ive  manner. 
At  sight  of  Earle,  however,  he  suddenly  grew 
livid,  and  the  grotesque  grin  was  succeeded  by 
a  glance  full  of  menace. 

For  an  instant  their  hostile  glances  flashed 
and  crossed  like  rapiers.  Then  Earle  regained 
his  coolness,  continued  to  converse  with  Ellinor 
Maverick  ;  and  that  young  lady's  handsome 
back  was  turned  upon  Sir  Murdaugh. 

The  baronet's  expression  thereat  grew  veno 
mous.  His  demeanor  toward  Earle  was  a 
mixture  of  app/ehension  and  suppressed  rage  ; 
but  no  one  noticed  it  —  certainly  not  the  fail 

(80) 


"/y  /.$•  TIME  i"  81 

Ellinor,  who  leaned  forward,  resting  her  rosy 
cheek  upon  her  snowy  hand,  so  as  to  exhibit 
the  charms  of  an  exquisitely  rounded  arm,  and 
gazed  at  Earle  with  an  air  of  deep  and  fascin 
ated  interest. 

That  expression,  in  the  eyes  of  a  beautiful 
woman,  is  dangerous.  It  had  its  full  effect 
upon  the  sailor.  He  felt  his  heart  beat,  and 
the  blood  rushed  to  his  cheeks.  Through  a  sort 
of  haze  he  seemed  to  see  an  angel,  or  a  devil, 
he  knew  not  which,  whose  eyes  said  to  him, 
"You  did  right  to  take  me  away  from  thai 
hideous  satyr  yonder.  We  are  young.  Love  is 
the  only  true  life.  Love  me,  and  I  will  love 
you,  and  be  yours ! " 

When  a  commonplace  question  from  Rose 
Maverick  broke  the  spell,  Earle  seemed  to  fall 
suddenly  from  some  fairy  realm  into  the  cold 
world  again.  He  turned  quickly.  Sir  Mur- 
daugh  Westbrooke  was  looking  at  him  and 
Ellinor  with  all  the  furies  raging  in  his  heart. 

He  rose  —  his  visit  had  k-eted  less  than  an 
hour,  but  it  had  seemed  a  century  of  torment. 
Declaring  stiffly  that  he  had  only  ridden  out  to 
take  the  air,  and  must  now  return,  he  bowed 
low,  shot  a  wrathful  glance  at  Ellinor  Maverick 
and  went  out,  accompanied  by  Arthur  Maverirfc, 
0 


82  "77*  IS   TIME!" 

whose  manner  throughout  the  interview  had 
been  perfectly  courteous  but  also  j>erfectly  £jr 
mal. 

Two  hours  afterwards,  Earle  in  his  turn 
mounted  and  directed  his  way  toward  the  vil 
lage. 

His  head  was  turning,  almost.  A  passionate 
scene  had  occurred  between  himself  and  the 
fair  Ellinor  on  the  portico.  She  had  magnetized 
him,  drawn  him  on,  said  "  Come  1 "  with  her 
eyes,  and  when  he  poured  out  his  passion, 
quietly  laughed  at  him. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards,  he  was  riding  away ; 
as  he  went  he  muttered  to  himself,  — 

"  So  that  folly  ends,  and  the  end  is  fortunate, 
perhaps.  Earle  the  sailor  is  not  to  cast  anchor 
yet  —  so  much  the  better ;  the  wind  is  fair,  and 
there  is  fighting  and  sailing  to  do.  Fighting  ? 
Come !  I  think  there  was  some  question  of  that 
once !  I've  been  crazy,  but  am  sane  now;  I  was 
dreaming,  but  am  awake  !  To  work,  laggard ! 
and  obey  jour  orders.  You  came  hither  under 
orders,  and  you  are  shirking  your  duty.  Your 
men  await  you  nightly,  yonder;  act  this  night, 
and  leave  the  accursed  land  where  you've  fallen 
into  a  woman's  toils !  Come  1  to  work  1  Ah  I 
Sir  Murdftugh  Westbrooke,  my  dear  assassin  and 


fS    T1MET 


83 


rival,  beware!  This  very  night  I  Till  lay  a 
heavy  hand  upon  you ! " 

He  was  passing,  as  he  thus  muttered,  through 
ft  dart  hollow  in  the  hills. 

"  It  is  time,  brother  !  "  said  a  voice,  "  or  he 
will  lay  his  hand  on  you  !  " 

And  the  speaker  advanced  from  the  shadow 
of  a  huge  hemlock,  beneath  which  he  had  been 
concealed. 

It  was  the  gypsy. 


CHAPTER   XIH 

THE  MAN  IN  THE   COACH. 

'A  RLE,  startled  for  an  instant  in  spite  of 
himself,  by  the  apparition  in  his  path, 
quickly  regained  his  coolness,  and  drew 
rein  to  converse  with  his  companion. 
"You  say  — !  "  said  Earle. 
"That  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  is  plotting 
to  destroy  you,"  said  the  gypsy.    "I  know  it 
from  hearing  the  thing  with  my  ears,  brother." 
"  Tell  me  all  about  it" 
And  dismounting,   Earle  threw  his    bridle 
over  his  arm,  and  walked  on  beside  the  gypsy. 

"Well,  I  will  do  so,  brother.  Night  is  the 
time  to  talk ;  and  I  think  the  stars  yonder  are 
friendly  to  the  brethren  of  the  Rommanye 
Rye.  Here  is  the  way  I  discovered  all.  I  had 
been  to  make  a  visit  to  Westbrooke  Hall  —  " 
(94) 


TftJS  MAtf  IN  Ttt£  CO  AC  ft.  85 

to  converse  with  the  baronet  on  that 
"business  ?  "  interrupted  Earl. 

The  gypsy  smiled  in  a  manner  which  dis 
played  a  double  row  of  teeth. 

"  No,  brother.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't 
like  the  thought  of  going  there  on  that  errand. 
Some  accident  might  happen  to  me ;  I  might 
be  set  up  in  a  chair,  opposite  that  other  grin 
ning  '  old  gentleman,'  in  the  grave-clothes  1 " 

"  I  understand,"  said  Earle. 

"  I  had  other  business,  and  I  succeeded  in  it, 
brother.  I  had  made  a  little  plot  against  the 
other  wolf-hound.  Some  day,  I  said,  I  may 
have  to  visit  Westbrooke  Park.  Then  the 
hound  will  prove  an  ugly  customer,  and  give 
the  alarm.  Better  act  in  time,  and  pay  my  re 
spects  to  his  honor,  the  wolf-hound  I " 

"  I  understand,"  repeated  Earle. 

"  So  I  went  to  see  this  good  watch-dog  in  hia 
kennel,"  continued  the  gypsy ;  "  and  to  make  my 
visit  more  acceptable,  carried  with  me  a  piece 
of  fresh  meat.  This  I  threw  to  our  friend,  the 
hound,  just  as  he  sprang  out  to  give  the  alarm. 
He  gobblai  it  up  instead  of  barking.  I  hid  in 
the  bushes  near,  and  in  about  fifteen  minutes 
the  dog  seemed  to  grow  sick.  Then  he  bit  the 
ground  and  tugged  at  his  chain,  and  ei  ded  by 


86  THE  MAN  IN  THE,  COACH. 

rolling  on  his  back,  beating  the  air  with  hii 
paws,  and  then  lying  quiet." 

«  Poisoned » " 

"  Yes,  brother.  He  is  not  apt  to  trouble  u§ 
further.  I  saw  that  he  was  done  for  and  has 
tened  to  retreat  from  the  park.  When  I  reach 
ed  the  great  woods,  I  thought  I  was  safe ;  but  as 
I  was  gliding  through  a  thicket  skirting  the 
main  road,  I  thought  1  heard  footsteps  in  the 
undergrowth,  and  lay  down  listening.  The 
steps  came  nearer.  From  my  covert  I  saw  a 
man,  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  pass  within 
twenty  feet  of  me,  and  as  he  approached  the 
road  I  could  hear  the  hoof-strokes  of  a 
horse." 

"The  baronet?" 

"  Yes.  He  was  caning  back,  it  seemed,  from 
a  visit,  as  I  soon  found  that  he  was  in  full 
dress.  The  man  who  was  his  gamekeeper, 
Wilde,  had  chanced  to  be  going  his  rounds  an<? 
met  him.  The  baronet  stopped,  and  I  could 
see,  through  an  opening,  by  the  starlight,  that 
his  face  was  pale  and  full  of  anger  at  some 
thing." 

Earle  nodded. 

"I  can  explain  that  Well,  you  saw,— 
doubtless  you  also  heard." 


TttR  MAN  IN  TtfE  COACJf.  87 

"  Yes,  brother,  I  was  born  with  a  great  hank 
ering  after  finding  out  everything.  I  crawled 
along,  without  making  a  noise,  until  I  was 
within  a  few  yards  of  these  good  people,  and 
hiding  in  a  clump  of  bush,  listened.  I  had 
torn  my  rags  to  worse  rags,  but  what  I  heard 
was  worth  the  expense.  I  need  not  tell  you 
what  they  said;  it  amounted  to  this — that  you 
were  to  be  waylaid  and  *  got  rid  of.'  That  was 
the  baronet's  phrase.  As  to  me,  I  was  to  be 
treated  in  the  same  way.  You  see  he  knows 
we  know  his  secret,  and  as  long  as  we  are  alive 
he  is  not  safe.  He  is  in  a  violent  rage  with 
you  at  something,  besides,  which  occurred  to- 
uight,  it  seems ;  and,  hearing  the  name, 
'Maverick  House,'  where,  it  appears,  you 
were  on  a  visit,  I  thought  I'd  warn  you  in  time, 
brother." 

"  You  did  well,  —  forewarned,  forearmed," 
said  Earle.  "Was  anything  more  said  between 
the  worthies?" 

"They  were  interrupted." 

"By  whom?" 

"As  they  were  talking  in  low  tones,  on  the 
side  of  the  road,  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  a  firie; 
coach,  drawn  by  four  horses,  came  along,  going 
toward  the  Hall,  and,  as  it  passed,  a  gentiemai; 


&  ftfJS  MAX  Itt  tttE  COACA 

put  his  head  out  of  the  window,  an  mid,  '  li 
not  that  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  V  —  *  Yes, 
the  baronet  replied.  —  'I  am  the  Viscount 
Cecil,'  said  the  man  in  the  coach.  And  thn 
baronet  bowed,  came  up,  talked  for  some  min 
utes,  and  at  last  got  into  the  coach,  which  rolled 
away  toward  the  Hall,  Wilde  having  taken  his 
masters  horse.  Then  I  set  off  to  find  you  ;  the 
grass  has  not  grown  under  my  feet.  What  will 
you  do,  brother  ?  " 

But  Earle  did  not  reply.  A  sudden  glow  had 
come  to  his  countenance. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  heard  aright  ?  "  he  ex 
claimed.  "The  man  in  the  coach  gave  hia 
name  as  Viscount  Cecil  ?  " 

"I  heard  the  name  distinctly,  brother.  It 
>eems  to  interest  you." 

u  It  does,  I  swear  to  you  1  And  you  heard 
nothing  more  ?  " 

"Only  something  about  his  having  come 
down  to  his  estates,  from  Parliament,  to  see 
the  baronet  on  business,  or  something  of  the 
§ort" 

"Gtxxll  'Parliament/  —  that  is  enough  1 
*  Viscount  Cecil,'  —  there  can  be  nc  doubt  It 


"  What  do  you  say,  brother  f  " 


rtfs  MAN  IN  tffE  coActi.  §9 

"  Nothing.  Ah,  the  man  in  the  coach  —  the 
Iran  in  the  coach !  That  decides  me.  I  might 
have  been  weak  —  this  makes  me  resohtel" 

And  turning  to  the  gypsy,  he  added,  — 

u  I  am  about  to  leave  this  country,  brother 
Do  not  count  on  my  co-operation  with  you,  and 
look  out  for  yourself.  One  thing  only  I  can 
promise  you  :  I  think  that  I  will  rid  you  of  your 
enemy,  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke.  All  is 
ready!  To-night  decides!  Farewell,  brother! 
May  the  stars  guide  you ! " 

He  uttered  the  last  words  in  the  gypsy 
tongue,  and  made  a  salute  peculiar  to  the  fra 
ternity. 

Then,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  disap 
peared  at  full  gallop  in  the  darkness. 

The  gypsy  gazed  after  him  with  an  ex 
pression  of  wonder,  and  then  began  running 
in  the  same  direction  ;  that  is,  toward  Oldport 

The  village  was  not,  however,  Earle's  destina 
tion  now.  Once  out  of  sight  of  the  gypsy,  an 
individual  whom  he  seemed  to  decline  trusting, 
lie  turned  to  the  right,  rode  rapidly  toward  the 
coast,  reached  the  foot  of  the  great  headland, 
on  which  we  have  witnessed  his  interview  with 
the  sad-looking  woman,  and,  dismounting 
cealed  his  horse  in  a  thicket 


90  TttE  MAN  IN  fffjs.  cotclr. 


He  then  advanced  upon  foot,  without  losing 
a  moment,  toward  the  spot  where  he  had  dis 
embarked  from  the  boat,  and  following  a  wind 
irig  path,  along  narrow  ledges  of  rock,  came  in 
sight  of  the  little  indentation  in  the  precipice. 

The  boat  was  awaiting  him.  There  were 
four  men  in  it  —  they  seemed  to  have  juat 
arrived. 


CHAPTEK  XIT. 


THE   NIGHT   MAECU,   AND   ITS   OBJECT. 

'HE  young  sailor  passed  along  the  narrow 
ledge,  with  the  activity  of  a  chamois,  and 
suddenly  stood  in  presence  of  the  boat's 
crew. 

All  hands  went  to  their  hats. 
"Welcome,  Captain!"  said  one  whose  tone 
was  that  of  an  officer;  "you  see  we  obey  orders. 
I  was  growing  uneasy." 

"Thanks,  Dargonne!  Well,  the  time  has 
arrived.  The  affair  will  take  place  to-night 
Come  ashore,  order  the  men  to  follow  us.  I 
see  they  are  armed,  as  I  ordered.  Direct  them 
to  make  no  noise  and  come  on  quickly,  keeping 
MB  in  sight." 

Lieutenant  Dargonne,  a  small  wiry-looking 

(W) 


03  T&E  NIGHT  MARCff. 

personage,  clad  in  plain  clothes,  like  the  men 
turned  and  communicated  Earle's  orders. 

The  men  silently  stepped   from   the   boat 
attached  it  to  a  splintered  rock  by  a  chain,  anc 
followed  Earle  and  Dargonne,  who  passed  back 
along    the   narrow   path  by  which  Earle  had 
come. 

Reaching  the  slope  of  the  headland  again 
toward  the  interior,  Earle  went  to  the  thicket 
in  which  he  had  tethered  his  horse,  untied  the 
animal,  led  him  by  the  bridle,  and,  followed 
by  the  sailors,  made  a  circuit  so  as  to  avoid 
Oldport,  and  approached  Westbrooke  Hall. 

"  The  moment  has  come  now,  my  dear  Dar 
gonne,"  he  said  to  his  companion,  "  to  tell  yo*~ 
my  project.  I  have  not  done  so  before,  in  obe 
dience  to  orders.  A  few  words  will  explair 
everything.  France  and  England  are  at  war 
In  America  the  war  has  been  barbarous,  they  say 
on  the  part  of  England,  and  it  seems  growing 
as  barbarous  here.  The  English  admiralty 
Lave  issued  orders  to  their  cruisers  to  descend 
upon  the  French  coast,  whenever  an  opportunity 
offered,  and  carry  off  persons  of  position  and 
influence  to  be  held  as  hostages.  This  policy 
has  been  adopted  in  obedience  to  the  wishes  of 
the  English  party  in  power,  and  this  party  is 


THE  NIGHT  M,XtCH.  08 

led  in  Parliament  by  Viscount  Cecil,  who  made 
a  violent  oration  urging  the  policy  I  speak  of. 
His  oration  was  reported  in  the  English  journals ; 
—  these  were  transmitted  to  His  Majesty,  King 
Louis;  in  consequence,  the  cruisers  of  Hjg 
Majesty  have  received  orders  to  retort  by  de 
scending  upon  the  English  coast  and  carrying 
off  any  persons  of  rank  and  importance  whom 
they  can  lay  their  hands  on." 

Dargonne  made  a  sign  that  he  understood 
perfectly. 

"  Blow  for  blow !  That  is  only  fair,"  he 
said. 

"  Entirely  fair,  my  dear  Dargonne ;  and  now 
to  come  to  the  work  before  us.  When  I  re 
ceived  the  general  order  to  land  at  any  point  I 
thought  proper  on  the  English  coast  for  the 
object  in  view,  I  decided  to  visit  the  coast  of 
Pembrokshire,  hoping  to  seize  the  Viscount 
Cecil  himself.  I  had  already  visited  this  coast, 
as  you  know ;  arid  the  viscount's  large  estates 
lay  near  Oldport.  I  might  find  him  at  home 
after  Parliament,  and  that  would  be  superb. 
So  I  came,  but  soon  found  that  the  viscount 
was  still  in  London ;  then  I  planned  the  seizure 
of  a  cousin  of  his,  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke. 
I  visited  Westbrooke  Uall  to  reconnoitre, 


94  THE  NIGHT  MARCff. 

did  so.  Th-3i  the  attack  would  have  been 
made  —  it  should  have  been — but  I  have  been 
weak,  Dargonne !  No  more  of  that — it  is  over! 
I  am  Earle  the  sailor  again,  and  will  act  like 
him.  I  was  to  have  made  my  attack  on  West* 
brooke  Hall  to-night,  my  object  being  to  carry 
off  the  baronet,  the  viscount's  cousin.  But 
suddenly  an  immense  piece  of  good  fortune  has 
happened  to  us.  The  viscount  himself  has 
arrived  I " 

"Viscount  Cecil?" 

"  Himself — to-night" 

"The  man  who  set  the  whole  policy  against 
France  in  motion  1 " 

"The  very  man.  And  think — we  shall  seize 
him  to-night !  He  is  at  "Westbrooke  Hall ! " 

Dargonne  clucked  his  tongue  in  a  rapturous 
manner. 

"  Magnificent ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Is  it  not  ? "  said  Earle,  his  eyes  sparkling  with 
joy.  "Such  an  opportunity  to  win  rank  and 
distinction  is  seldom  offered  to  a  v>rivateersman." 

"Not  in  one  hundred  years,  Captain  1  It  is 
splendid — unheard  of  Viscount  Cecil — not 
only  a  Lord,  but  the  man  His  Majesty  hates! 
We  will  be  presented — thanked,  at  court  Jean 
Bart  will  be  forgotten  I " 


THE  NIGHT  MARCH.  95 

Earle  made  a  gesture  checking  his  compan 
ion. 

"The  work  is  not  done;  we  may  fail,"  bs 
•aid. 

"Fail?" 

"May  not  succeed  in  seizing  his  lordship  and 
the  baronet,  for  I  aim  to  secure  both.  All 
human  affairs  are  doubtful." 

"This  must  succeed!  What  are  the  obsta 
cles  ?  Are  there  retainers  to  meet  our  cutlasses 
—  dogs  to  alarm  them  ? " 

"Fortunately  no  dogs.  The  only  one  was 
poisoned  to-night  and  will  not  be  able  to  an 
nounce  our  approach.  And  as  to  retainers,  they 
are  few.  The  viscount,  and  possibly  the  baro 
net,  will,  however,  make  resistance." 

"A  trifle." 

"Let  us  undervalue  nothing,  Dargonne.  I 
have  succeeded  and  failed ;  but  if  I  fail  now,  it 
will  be  after  exhausting  every  effort.  The  vis 
count  is  at  Westbrooke  Hall  —  there  it  is  through 
the  opening  in  the  trees  yonder  1  "We  will  ap 
proach  without  noise,  and  enter  either  by  surprise 
or  escalade.  If  the  viscount  is  captured,  he  will 
be  mounted  on  this  horse  —  the  baronet  cu 
another  from  his  own. stables,  —  and  they  will 
be  conducted  rapidly  to  the  boat,  thence  to  the 


9Q  THE  Ni^Hl    MARCH. 

corvette;   and  we  will  make  sail  for  France^ 
and  be  out  of  sight  of  the  coast  by  daylight" 

They  had  reached  the  wall  of  the  park. 
Earle  threw  the  bridle  of  his  horse  over  a  bough 
in  a  sheltered  nook,  and  at  one  bound  cleared 
the  wall,  followed  by  Dargonne  and  the  sailors. 

As  he  did  so,  a  shadow  glided  fiDm  beneath 
an  oak.  At  one  bound  Earle  seized  the  shadow 
—  it  was  the  gypsy. 

"You  hurt  my  throat,  brother,"  said  the 
gypsy. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you  1    How  did  you  come  here  ? " 

u  I  followed  you,  brother,"  returned  the  vaga 
bond  coolly;  "and  if  you  are  willing,  I  will 
help  you  in  your  work." 

Earle  reflected  for  an  instant.  It  was  plain 
that  the  gypsy  had  no  motive  to  prove  false  tc 
him ;  and  the  presence  of  the  men  made  it  hn 
possible  for  him  to  escape  and  give  the  alarm  if 
he  wished  to  do  so. 

"  It  is  well,  brother,"  said  Earle ;  "  follow  me 
and  obey  my  directions." 

The  gypsy  fell  back  to  the  ranks  of  the 
Bailors. 

"  See  that  the  men  make  no  noise  now,  Dar- 
goune,"  said  Earle,  "  and  above  all,  that  no  fire- 
are  used.    The  attack  wUl  be  made  froip 


THE  NIGHT  MARCH.  97 

thj  r«ir  of  the  house,  to  prevent  resistance  and 
an  alarm.  Let  every  one  preserve  silence  and 
follow  me." 

As  he  spoke,  they  came  to  the  desolate-lock' 
ing  expanse  immediately  in  front  of  West- 
hrooke  Hall. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  VISWUNT  CECIL. 

|ET  us  precede  the  assaulting  party, 
ascertain  what  was  going  on  in  Vest- 
brooke  Hall  at  the  moment  when  they 
silently  followed  the  path  through  the 
woods  to  seize  the  coveted  prize. 

In  the  large  apartment  where  the  interview 
between  Earle  and  the  baronet  had  taken  place, 
Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  and  the  Viscount 
Cecil  were  seated,  coldly  conversing. 

The  viscount  was  a  gentleman  of  command 
ing  appearance,  and  had  once  been  handsome  ; 
ill  health,  or  some  other  cause,  however,  had 
reduced  a  frame  once  powerful.  It  was  an 
invalid,  almost,  who  talked  with  the  baronet, 
but  an  invalid  of  superb  and  commanding  ex 
pression  and  bearing. 


THE   VISCOUNT  CECIL.  99 

u  I  have  long  desired  to  hold  this  interview 
but  have  been  constantly  prevented,  sir,"  he  said 
to  the  baronet,  in  a  cold  tone. 

"  Its  object,  my  lord  ? "  was  the  formal  ques 
tion  of  the  baronet. 

"  Family  affairs ;  and  to  propose  to  you  an 
arrangement  which  may  prove  agreeable  to 
us  both." 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  became  more  for 
mal  and  stiff  than  before.  Two  icebergs  seemed 
to  have  encountered  each  other ;  under  the  fro 
zen  crust  of  these  men's  countenances  no  emo 
tion  of  any  description  was  discernible. 

"  An  *  arrangement,'  my  lord  ?  —  you  have  an 
arrangement  to  propose  to  me  ? "  said  the  baro 
net,  with  ill-concealed  suspicion.    "  I  listen,  and 
shall  be  glad  to  know  of  what  character  it  is." 

The  viscount  remained  for  a  moment  silent, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor;  then  he  raised 
his  head  and  said  in  measured  and  formal 
tones,  — 

"  Permit  me,  in  the  first  place,  to  state  briefly 
the  relations  we  now  sustain  toward  each  other, 
sir.  That  will  lead  to  a  clear  mderstandmg  of 
the  offer  I  propose  to  make  you.  When  the 
last  Lord  Wentworth  died,  he  was  almost  with 
out  blood  relation*.  Two  young  coutin*,  you 


100  THE    VISCOUNT  CECIL. 

and  myself,  sir,  were  the  nearest,  and  were  se 
lected  by  him  to  be  his  heirs.  By  his  will,  you 
were  to  have  the  great  Westbrooke  property 
here ;  I  that  upon  which  his  lordship  had  resided 
in  this  neighborhood.  That  is  correct,  is  it 
not,  sir?" 

"  Wholly  correct,  my  lord,"  was  the  cold 
reply. 

"  I  will  proceed,  then,  sir.  There  was  a  pro-* 
viso  in  the  will,  that  if  either  you  or  myself 
died  without  issue,  the  survivor  should  inherit. 
Thus  the  entire  property  of  Lord  Wentworth 
would  remain  in  his  family.  That  also  is  cor 
rect,  sir,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Entirely,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  now  for  my  proposition,  sir.  I  do  not 
propose  to  marry,  and  think  it  improbable 
that  you  design  doing  so.  Thus  you  will  in 
herit  from  me,  or  I  will  inherit  from  you :  the 
chance  is  even,  perhaps.  I  am  an  invalid,  but 
one  of  those  invalids  who  live  longer  than 
strong  men ;  and  your  age  is  greater  by  some 
years  than  mine  —  in  brief,  I  may  survive 
you." 

"It  is  possible,  as  your  lordship  says,"  re 
turned  the  baronet,  with  his  ghastly  grin. 

"  Well,  I  propose  a  compromise ,  and  I  will 


101 


ba  entirely  frank,  sir,  in  stating  its  object.  A 
great  grief  has  rendered  me  lonely  —  the  death 
of  my  wife,  —  a  fact  of  which  you  are  aware. 
I  am  solitary  and  crave  affection ;  thus  I  have 
fixed  my  regards  upon  a  young  lady  whom  1 
wish  to  adopt  as  my  daughter.  To  this  young 
lady  I  wish  to  leave  a  portion  of  my  property: 
in  fine,  I  propose,  sir,  to  convey  to  you,  now, 
one-half  my  entire  estate,  if,  in  return,  you 
will  execute  an  instrument  settling  the  other 
half  on  the  young  lady,  to  be  her  own  at  my 
death." 

"The  name  of  the  young  -ady,  my  lord,  if 
you  please  ? "  said  Sir  Murdaugh,  coldly. 

"  It  is  unimportant  —  I  will  withhold  it  for 
the  present.  What  say  you  to  my  proposition, 
sir?" 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  rose,  with  a  grin 
of  unconcealed  triumph. 

"  I  say  that  circumstances  render  it  impossi 
ble  for  me  to  accept  it,  my  lord ! " 

"  Circumstances  ?     Of  what  nature,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  franker  than  your  lordship.  The 
circumstance  of  my  approaching  marriage." 

"  Tour  marriage  ? " 

"  Your  lordship  dwells  upon  tha  word 
'your;'  it  is  scarce  polite." 


103  THE   VISCOUNT  CECIL. 

The  viicount  suddenly  grew  freezing. 

"Your  pardon,  sir.  It  was,  indeed,  scant 
courtesy.  I  will  not  further  trouble  you,  s&v« 
to  congratulate  you  upon  yovr  approaching 
nuptials." 

The  bar  met  bowed  ironically. 

"  I  can  understand,  sir,"  said  the  viscount,  in 

he  same  tone,  "  that  your  parental  anticipations 

quite  overturn  my  own  views.     Your  children 

may  inherit  my  estate :  so  be  it,  sir.    God  has 

BO  decreed  it." 

Something  like  a  convulsion  passed  over  the 
paleface.  Then  it  resumed  its  expression  of 
lofty  and  commanding  calmness,  and  the  vis 
count  said, — 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  order  my 
coach,  sir  ?  I  will  sleep  at  my  own  home  to 
night." 

As  he  uttered  the  words,  the  window  in  the 
adjoining  room  was  driven  in  by  a  heavy  blow, 
the  sash  was  thrown  up,  and  Earle,  at  the  hea<? 
of  hia  mer,  leaped  into  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

THE   ATTACK  AND  PUBSUTT. 

' ARLE  advanced  with  drawn  sword  to. 
ward  the  viscount  and  baronet. 

"  Surrender,  or  you  are  dead  1 "  he 
said,  presenting  the  point  to  the  vis 
count's  heart. 

The  nobleman's  reply  was  to  draw  his  dress 
sword,  and  lunge  straight  at  Earle's  breast. 

But  the  sailor  was  far  too  powerful  for  him. 
With  a  whirl  of  his  weapon,  he  sent  the  dress- 
sword  of  the  viscount  spinning  across  the 
room. 

Iii  spite  of  his  disarmed  condition,  the  vis 
count  continued  to  resist,  and  was  with  diffi 
culty  secured. 

"No  harm  is  designed  yotn*  lordship,"  said 
Earle. 


104          THE  ATTACK  AND    *URSVTt. 

And  he  wheeled  round  to  seize  Sir  Murdangh 
Westbrooke. 

The  baronet  had  disappeared,  the  explana 
tion  of  which  was  simple. 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  for  reasons  best 
known  to  himself,  had  amused  his  leisure  mo 
ments  by  constructing  in  the  wall  of  the  apart 
ment  a  secret  door,  which  opened  by  means  of 
a  spring  and  closed  in  the  same  manner.  Was 
the  secret  recess,  or  means  of  exit,  intended  to 
be  employed  in  the  event  of  a  sudden  advance 
by  the  officers  of  the  law  upon  him?  It  is 
impossible  to  say,  but  there  was  the  means  of 
safety  at  hand,  and  the  baronet  made  use  of  it. 

Finding  that  the  viscount  was  in  the  power  of 
the  midnight  assailants,  Sir  Murdaugh  West 
brooke  determined  to  save  himself.  At  one 
bound  he  reached  the  wall,  leaned  against  the 
concealed  knob,  the  door  flew  open,  the  baronet 
passed  through  it,  and  the  panel  flew  to  again, 
protecting,  with  its  three  inches  of  solid  oak, 
the  fugitive  from  all  further  danger. 

Thus  the  baronet  had  evaded  him,  but  Earle 
had  secured  the  greater  prize.  The  frightened 
•ervarts  had  fled  at  the  first  noise,  and  no  oppo 
sition  was  made. 

"Now  to  gain  the  boat,"  said  Earle;  "u. 


THE  ATTACK  AtiD  ftfcSUlt.          lOfi 


He  made  a  sign  and  the  great  front  door  wai 
thrown  open. 

"Your  lordship  will  please  go  with  us  qui 
etly,"  he  said  to  the  nobleman. 

And  the  party,  with  the  viscount  in  charge, 
passed  out  and  hurried  through  the  park. 
They  soon  reached  the  spot  where  they  had  en 
tered,  found  the  horse  quietly  awaiting  them  ; 
and  Earle,  with  perfect  courtesy,  requested  the 
viscount  to  mount.  He  did  so  without  uttering 
a  word.  One  of  the  sailors  led  the  animal  by 
the  bridle;  Earle  and  Dargonne  walked  on 
each  side.  The  rest  followed,  and  the  cortege 
set  out  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  coast. 

When  they  had  gone  a  hundred  yards,  Earle 
turned  to  the  viscount  and  said,  — 

"  I  beg  that  your  lordship  will  have  no  ap 
prehensions.  No  harm  will  be  done  you,  if 
you  make  no  resistance." 

"  Very  well,  sir  "  was  the  viscount's  reply,  in 
a  cold  and  unmoved  voice  ;  "  that  at  least  is 
gratifying.  You  have  not  asked  fo:  my  purse, 
I  observe." 

Earle  colored  with  anger,  but  suppressed  thii 
emotion  at  once. 


106  TffJl  ATTACJT  AND  fURSUlT. 

"  We  do  not  wish  to  inspect  the  contents  01 
your  lordship's  pockets,"  he  said,  stiffly. 

"  May  I  ask  your  object,  then,  sir,  in  com 
mitting  this  extraordinary  outrage  upon  my 
person  \ " 

"  The  object  was  to  capture  your  lordship," 
•aid  Earle  calmly. 

"  To  capture  me  I " 

«  Precisely." 

u  For  what  reason  ?  I  am  really  curious  to 
ascertain  the  object  which  you  have  in  view, 
sir.  You  appear  to  be  a  person  of  good  breed 
ing,  if  I  may  judge  of  your  character  by  the 
tones  of  your  voice ;  and  I  need  not  inform 
you  that  curiosity  is  most  painful  when  loft 
ungratified." 

There  was  a  coolness  and  nonchalance  in  the 
Discount's  tones  which  highly  pleased  Earle, 
and  made  him  respect  his  adversary. 

"  I  compliment  your  lordship  on  your  calm 
ness,  and  thank  you  for  your  good  opinion 
The  object  of  this  little  night  attack  need 
not  remain  a  secret.  It  is  now  unimportant 
whether  your  lordship  knows  or  is  ignorant  of 
the  meaning  of  every  thing.  We  shall  carry 
you  off, — it  ig  probable  at  least. —  and  I  trust 
that  the  safety  of  my  men  will  rot  require  mt 


THE  ATTACK  AND    PURSUIT.  107 

to  put  your  lordship  to  death.  I  should  regret 
that,  and  will  not  contemplate  so  painful  a 
catastrophe." 

"  You  turn  your  sentences  charmingly,  sir ; 
a^id  now  for  your  object  in  carrying  me  off? " 

"  It  is  my  design  to  conduct  you  to  France, 
my  lord." 

"  To  France  ?  " 

"  To  the  court  of  his  French  majesty." 

"  A  prisoner  ? " 

"  Of  state  or  war,  as  you  choose." 

"  Ah !  I  begin  to  understand.  You  retaliate 
for  the  late  order  of  the  English  admiralty 
against  French  civilians !  " 

"  Precisely,  my  lord." 

"Then  this  affair  assumes  quite  another 
aspect.  Your  name  and  rank? — you  are  a 
French  officer  ? " 

"  I  am,  my  lord.  I  have  assumed  the  name 
of  Delamere,  but  I  am  a  captain  in  His  Maj 
esty's  navy,  and  my  true  name  is  Edmond 
Earle." 

The  viscount  bowed. 

"  All  this  changes  things  greatly,  and  no 
blame  whatever  attaches  to  you,  sir,"  he  said 
coldly.  "  I  regarded  you,  very  naturally,  as  a 
bandit  bent  on  plunder.  I  beg  yoi  to  pardon 


108 


that  injustice,  since  you  are  an  officer  acting  ;a 
obedience  to  orders.  Thanks  for  the  :Lf  orma- 
tion  thus  communicated.  I  do  not  care  to 
know  anything  further." 

And  the  viscount  relapsed  into  silence,  busy, 
it  seemed,  with  his  own  thoughts. 

Earle  said  no  more,  and  the  party  proceeded 
rapidly  on  their  way.  Following  the  road  by 
which  they  had  come,  they  made  the  circuit  ol 
Oldport  ;  and  then  Earle  hastened  still  more, 
expecting  every  moment  to  hear  or  see  some 
thing  that  would  give  the  alarm.  Sir  Mur- 
daugh's  first  thought  after  the  disappearance  of 
the  assaliants  would  undoubtedly  be  to  arouse 
the  country  —  the  audacious  party  might  be  fol 
lowed,  and  either  captured  or  killed  ;  all  de 
pended  now  upon  expedition;  and  Earle  pressed 
on  at  the  head  of  his  men  toward  the  spot 
where  the  boat  had  been  left. 

Suddenly  the  beacon  light  on  the  headland 
shot  up,  and  threw  its  ruddy  glare  around. 

"What  is  that,  pray?"  said  the  viscount, 
coolly. 

"  A  misfortune,  my  lord,'*  said  Earle  ;  "  at 
least  to  us,  for  it  will  dissipate  the  darkness." 

And  glancing  at  the  beacon  fire  ho 
muttered,  — 


THE  ATTACK  AND   PURSUIT.          109 

u  Why  is  that  kindled  to-night  ? " 

He  looked  up.  The  appearance  ;-f  tlie 
heavens  explained  all.  Across  the  sky  drifted 
rapidly  black  masses  of  cloud  ;  and  the  hoarse 
roar  from  the  channel  indicated  that  a  storm 
was  approaching.  Doubtless  the  solitary  had 
seen  that,  and  kindled  her  beacon  to  warn  ves 
sels  off  the  headland. 

Earle's  brows  were  knit,  and  he  hurried 
on. 

All  at  once,  from  an  elevated  point  on  the 
coast  south  of  Oldport,  a  piece  of  artillery 
sent  its  long,  hoarse  thunder  on  the  air. 

"  There  is  the  alarm,  my  lord,"  said  Earle. 
"  Sir  Murdaugh  has  not  spared  horseflesh  and, 
the  revenue  station  has  given  the  alarm." 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  a  probability  of  my 
rescue,  sir  ? "  said  the  viscount,  with  great 
coolness. 

"None  at  all,  I  am  pleased  to  say,  my 
lord." 

"I  mil  pay  each  one  who  takes  part  in 
rescuing  me,  a  thousand  guineas,"  ssJd  the 
viscount,  looking  at  the  sailors. 

Earle  laid  his  hand  on  his  pistol  and 
frowned. 

"Will  your   lordship  be  good    Enough    to 


110  THE  ATTACK  AND  PURSUIT. 

forbear  from  further  observations  of  that  na 
ture  ? "  he  said,  sternly,  "  If  my  men  are 
tempted  again,  I  will  blow  out  your  brains, 
my  lord  1" 

The  Viscount  inclined  his  head,  with  un 
moved  coolness. 

"  You  are  right "  he  said  ;  "  it  was  an  indis 
cretion  under  the  circumstances  1  I  will  there 
fore  say  no  more,  but  await  events." 

"  You  will  do  well,  my  lord.  You  will  now 
dismount,  if  you  please.  We  are  near  the  spot 
where  a  boat  awaits  you. ' 

The  viscount  dismounted  without  objection. 

Earle  then  hastened  at  the  head  of  his  party 
toward  the  narrow  path  along  the  ledge  of 
rocks,  leading  to  the  spot  where  the  boat  was 
awaiting  him. 

All  at  once  the  noise  of  hoofs  was  heard  in 
the  direction  of  Oldport.  Lights  dance  1  to 
and  fro.  The  gun  had  given  the  alarm. 

"  "What  noise,  pray,  is  that  ? "  gaid  the  vis 
count,  quietly. 

uThe  mounted  guard  of  the  revenue 
station —  they  have  ridden  well,  and  seem  to 
be  piloted  by  some  onel" 

"The  affair  grows  interesting  I "  laid  th« 
viacount,  walking  calmly  beside  Earle. 


THE  ATTACK  AND   PURSUIT.  Ill 

'I  think  we'll  get  off  with  your  lordship  1" 
was  the  cool  reply.    And  turning  round,  — 

"  Lose  not  a  moment !  "  he  said  to  the  men  • 
u  the  cavalry  are  on  us  1 " 

The  sudden  smiting  of  hoofs  within  two 
hundred  yards  came  like  an  echo. 

"  To  the  ledge  of  rocks  1"  cried  Earle ;  "  once 
there  we  are  nearly  safe ! " 

The  hoof -strokes  were  silent. 

"  Quick !  they  are  dismounting  1 "  cried  Earle. 

All  at  once  the  pursuers  were  seen  passing 
around  a  clump  of  bushes.  They  were  follow 
ing  on  foot  —  about  ten  men  under  an  officer, 
and  the  gigantic  plume  of  fire  on  the  headland 
showed  them  their  game. 

Earle  knit  his  brows  savagely. 

"  We  will  reach  the  boat  or  die  fighting  1 " 
he  said.  "  Come,  my  lord  ! " 

And  he  dragged  the  viscount  on. 

"  There  is  then  some  hope  of  my  escape  t " 
said  the  latter,  coolly. 

"  "None  ! "  was  Earle's  stern  reply.  "  I  shall 
probably  have  the  great  honor  of  —  dying  with 
with  your  lordship  I M 


CHAPTER  XYTL 


GOLIATH. 

HE  sailor  had  scarcely  uttered  these 
words  when  a  sudden  darkness  spread 
itself  over  the  landscape. 

The  beacon  fire  disappeared  as  though 
a  tempest  had  extinguished  it.  Had  the  wind 
blown  it  out,  or  had  the  recluse  heaped  fresh 
wood  upon  it  in  such  quantities  as  to  tempora 
rily  smother  the  blaze?  It  was  impossible  to 
say,  but  the  light  suddenly  disappeared.  Earle 
and  his  party  were  completly  concealed  from 
his  pursuers. 

The  sailor  uttered  an  exclamation  of  triumph. 
"We  are  saved  if  the  darkness  continues  I" 
he  said. 

u  The  beacon   seems  extinguished,  air,"  said 
the  voice  of  the  viscount  in  the  darkness. 


GOLIATH.  US 

•<  Yes,  my  lord?" 

"  What  does  it  mean?' 

"Fresh  wood  or  the  wind,  probably." 

"That  is  unfortunate." 

•"Or  fortunate." 

"  You  are  light,  sir.  We  look  at  things,  very 
naturally,  in  a  different  light.  This  path,  if 
extremely  narrow." 

"  Your  lordship  runs  no  danger,  holding 
my  arm.  Come!  our  pursuers  are  nearly 
upon  us!" 

"  The  revenue  guard  I  " 

"  Tea,  my  lord." 

"They  are  pressing  you  close,  captain.  IB 
it  your  intention,  if  I  may  ask,  to  blow  out 
my  brains  rather  than  lose  me  ?  I  ask  from 
mere  curiosity ;  only  to  know  what  is  coming." 

"  You  are  a  brave  man ! "  was  Earle's  re- 
ply.  "  No !  a  thousand  times  no  1  I  am  ordered 
to  seize  you,  not  to  murder  you  I " 

The  viscount  nodded. 

"  You  say  I  am  brave  —  I  say  that  you 
are  an  officer  and  a  gentleman.  Now  I  will 
await  the  sequel.  I  have  little  furthei  so 
licitude." 

"  And  yet  you  are  in  Tery  great  danger." 

"What?" 
8 


114  GOLIATH. 

"  Your  friends  may  fire  on  us,  and  kill  you  1 " 

As  Earle  uttered  the  words  a  voice  _ried 
"  Halt ! "  and  a  shot  was  heard. 

The  sailor  staggered. 

"  You  are  struck  ! "  exclaimed  the  viscount 

u  Yes,  my  lord  —  and  badly  h  art.  I  think. 
But  no  matter  1 " 

"  I  swear  I  regret  it  I  " 

«  Thanks ! " 

"  Surrender !  I  give  you  my  word  of  honoi 
you  shall  be  treated  as  an  officer  captured  on 
honorable  duty." 

"  Surrender  ?  never !  "  gasped  Earle ;  "  I  will 
die  fighting  before  I  will  surrender !  " 

And  clutching  the  arm  of  the  viscount,  he 
dragged  him  violently  toward  the  boat. 

The  pursuers  were  rushing  upon  them  with 
loud  shouts.  The  darkness  hid  them,  but  the 
noise  of  their  footsteps  on  the  rocky  ledge 
betrayed  them. 

Earle  dragged  the  viscount  on.  They  reach- 
ed  the  boat. 

"  Make  haste  1  make  haste,  Dargonne  1  Every 
instant  counts  1 "  cried  Earle. 

And  pushing  the  viscount  without  cere 
mony, — 

"  Enter  the  boat,  my  lord,"  be  said,  sternly. 


GOLIATH.  113 


"Then  I  am  not  to  be  rescued  vii^f  all,  it 
leems,''  was  the  philosophic  reply  of  the  vis 
count  as  he  stepped  upon  the  boat. 

The  men  leaped  after  him  and  Dargonne  fol 
lowed. 

"  Come,  Captain  !  "  shouted  Dargonae. 

As  he  spoke,  the  foremost  pursuers  rushed 
on  Earle.  He  felt  a  hand  upon  his  throat. 
Then  something  like  a  heavy  thuinj  was  heard 
hi  the  darkness,  and  the  man  who  had  seized 
Earle  was  hurled  back  as  by  the  blow  of  a  blud 
geon. 

A  second  dull  thump  followed,  and  a  second 
was  prostrated  in  the  same  manner. 

Earle  staggered  to  the  boat  which  had  not 
moved. 

"Put  off,  and  return  for  me  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Never  !  "  Dargonne  cried. 

"  Obey  !  "  said  Earle,  imperiously.  "  It  is  1 
who  give  orders  here  !  " 

Dargonne  bowed  liis  head.  Discipline  con 
quered.  He  made  a  sign,  and  the  boat  flew  a 
dozen  yards  from  shore. 

"  Row,  row  !  "  cried  Earle  ;  "  they  are  about 
to  fire  on  you  !  " 

A  volley  came  like  an  echo,  and  one  of  the 
uttered  a  cry  of  pa?a. 


GOLIATH. 

"  Row ! "  cried  Earle  a  second  tiucs ;  and  th« 
boat  darted  toward  the  open  sea. 

The  sailor  turned  then  to  face  his  enemies, 
resolved  to  die  as  he  had  promised  he  would. 
But  suddenly  a  voice  near  him  said,  — 

"  1  have  knocked  down  the  foremost  1  Ron 
up  yonder  and  you  be  safe,  master ! " 

It  was  the  voice  of  Goliath,  the  "  wolf." 

"You?  "said  Earle. 

"  I  came  ahead,  thinking  it  was  smugglers, 
meaning  to  fight  for  'em,  master.  It  be  you, 
which  is  better.  You  be  a  '  wolf.'  There  is 
the  path." 

He  spoke  hurriedly  and  pointed  to  the  path 
leading  up  the  cliff.  Suddenly,  shouts  close  at 
hand  indicated  that  the  main  body  of  the  pur 
suers  had  reached  the  spot.  Earle  had  just  time 
to  rush  behind  a  rock  and  up  the  path  when  the 
ledge  swarmed  with  his  enemies. 

He  hastened  on  up  the  steep  path.  His 
wound  was  bleeding  profusely,  and  already  his 
strength  was  nearly  exhausted. 

He  tore  open  the  bosom  of  his  shirt,  and 
bound  up  the  wound  in  the  best  manner  possible. 
But  the  linen  WAS  almost  instantly  saturated 
with  blood. 

Earle  staggered  on. 


GbttAftt.  117 

His  head  began  to  turn,  and  more  than  once 
he  came  near  falling. 

Still  he  continued  the  painful  ascent:  the 
strength  of  his  powerful  will  alone  seemed  to 
sustain  him. 

At  length,  he  had  nearly  reached  the  summit, 
where  stood  the  hut  of  the  recluse.  The  path 
wound  around  a  ledge  jutting  over  the  sea. 

As  Earle  tottered  along  this  path,  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  dizzy  precipice,  the  beacon  fire  shot 
aloft  suddenly  —  a  great  pillar  of  flame. 

Earle  looked  seaward.  Half  a  mile  from  the 
headland,  the  boat  containing  the  viscount  was 
seen  rapidly  making  for  the  open  channel. 

"Safe!"  the  sailor  muttered,  "they  will  soon 
reach  the  corvette." 

And  he  tottered  on  up  the  broken  pathway 
his  bosom  heaving,  his  sight  failing  him. 

A  few  more  steps,  and  he  reached  the  sum 
mit.  Before  him  was  the  beacon  and  the  hut 
The  solitary  woman  was  seated  on  her  bench. 

Earle  staggered  toward  her. 

"  Mother ! "  came  from  him  in  a  low  murmur. 

A  moment  afterwards  he  had  fallen,  lifeless, 
newly,  upon  the  bosom  of  hj<j  mother. 


PART    II. 


THE   BLOOD-HOUND, 


CHAPTER  L 


HU.NT.U1>. 

INGE  the  events  just  related  more  than  a 
month  had  passed. 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  was  seated 
in  his  library  at  Westbrooke  Hall  — 
aold,  grim,  gloomy,  and  knitting  his  brows, 
under  which  rolled,  in  their  cavernous  sockets, 
the  threatening  and  bloodshot  eyes. 

"  To  think  that  he  should  have  escaped !"  he 

muttered;  "and  some  day  he  will  reappear  — 

I  feel  it  —  and  destroy  me  by  uttering  one  word. 

What  devilish  accident  ever  threw  hfm  with 

(118) 


HUNTED.  119 

that  gypsy  whom  I  have  been  hunting  in 
vain?  That  vagabond,  no  doubt,  witnessed 
what  took  place  yonder ',  while  prowling  in  the 
woods." 

He  half  shuddered. 

"  I  am  standing  on  a  volcano  1 "  he  added  in 
the  same  hoarse  growl.  "  At  any  instant  I  may 
be  destroyed.  Not  by  the  gypsy :  no  one  would 
credit  the  statement  of  a  worthless  vagrant 
against  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke ;  but  Ad — his 
statement  —  that  is  different.  He  is  bold,  deter 
mined  ;  a  man  of  character,  and  can  ruin  me  if 
he  chooses.  He  will  return  hither ;  that  girl  has 
made  him  her  slave.  Oh  !  to  find  him !  to  drive 
a  bullet  through  him !  to  seal  his  lips  by  pistol 
or  poniard,  and  at  one  blow  insure  my  safety, 
and  what  is  almost  as  important — !" 

He  turned  round  suddenly.  Hurried  steps 
were  heard  in  the  corridor.  He  started  to  his 
feet,  turned  pale,  and  his  eye  fell  upon  a  brace 
of  pistols  lying  on  the  table. 

Wilde  entered,  or  rather  rushed  in. 

"You?" 

The  baronet  drew  &  long  breath. 

«  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"Something    important,  yofcr    honor!"    ox 
the  gamekeeper. 


And  in  hurried  words  he  explaimed  the  cause 
of  hie  abrupt  entrance.  We  shall  sum  up  hii 
communication  in  a  few  words.  Knowing  hii 
master's  anxiety  to  ascertain  all  in  reference  to 
Earle  and  the  attack  on  the  hall,  he  had  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  in  his  character  of  spy 
and  secret  emissary.  Lurking  and  listening  at 
the  Oat  and  Bdl,  and  keeping  his  eyes  as  well 
as  his  ears  open,  he  had  managed  on  this  day  to 
ascertain  the  fact  that  Earle  was  wounded  on 
the  night  of  the  attack.  He  had  then  examined 
the  ground  where  the  embarkation  on  the  boat 
had  taken  place;  observed  the  path  up  the 
precipice;  ascended  it;  concealed  himself 
behind  a  rock ;  seen  Earle  through  the  window 
of  the  hut,  and  hastened  back  to  his  master  with 
this  highly  important  intelligence. 

It  acted  like  a  blow. 

The    baronet    started  to  his  feet,  and  ex 
claimed, — 

"At  last!  this  removes  every  danger  at 
once!" 

"He  is  a  desperate  man,  sir,"  said  Wilde 
"We  must  take  a  party  with  us." 

"  Right.  I'll  send  a  note  to  the  officer  com 
msnding  at  the  revenue  station." 

And  sitting  den vn,  he  hurriedly  wrote,  — 


121 

"Snt,  —  Information  has  just  reached  me 
that  the  leader  of  the  party  who  attacked  my 
house  some  time  since,  and  carried  off  the  Vis 
count  Cecil,  is  now  lurking  on  the  coast,  at  a 
point  not  far  from  Oldport. 

"  As  the  attack  on  my  house  was  a  personal 
grievance,  and  the  abduction  of  my  cousin,  the 
Viscount  Cecil,  another,  I  offer  to  take  command 
of  a  party  to  arrest  the  chief  of  the  bandits. 
If  you  approve  of  this,  send  the  men  to  West- 
brooke  Hall  without  delay.  Loss  of  time  will 
probably  defeat  the  object  in  view." 

This  note  he  signed,  sealed,  and  dispatched  bj 
Wilde  himself. 

Three  hours  afterwards  the  man  returned,  at 
the  head  of  half  a  dozen  mounted  men.  The 
ihades  of  evening  approached.  It  was  the  best 
hour  for  their  project.  Without  a  word,  Sir 
Murdaugh  Westbrooke  mounted  his  horse,  and 
made  a  sign  to  Wilde  to  do  likewise.  Then 
they  set  out,  followed  by  the  men,  over  nearly 
the  same  path  which  Earle  and  his  party  had 
pursued,  which  enabled  them  to  avoid  Oldport. 

Wilde  had  made  this  suggestion. 

"Better  not  pass  through  the  village,  air," 
he  said ;  "  the  wolves  do  not  like  you,  from  youi 


122  ffUNTZD. 

activity  in  arresting  their  friends  thfc 
More  than  this  —  he  is  one  of  them.  They 
made  him  a  wolf  in  regular  form  a  mouth  01 
more  ago.  They  will  warn  him  or  resist  you ; 
for  they  are  capable  of  anything." 

"  You  are  right,"  returned  Sir  Murdaugh  in 
a  low  tone  ;  "  lead  the  way  by  the  safest  road. 
There  must  be  no  failure  —  and  listen,  Wilde  1 " 

He  sunk  his  voice  still  lower. 

"  This  man  must  not  be  arrested  ! " 

Wilde  returned  the  meaning  glance. 

"  He  must  die ! " 

The  man  nodded. 

"I  understand  you,  sir;  better  give  your 
orders." 

The  party  were  following  a  bridle-path 
through  the  woods.  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  turned  to  the  men. 

"  Let  every  man  pay  attention  1 " 

All  eyes  were  bent  on  him. 

"  The  man  we  are  in  pursuit  of  is  a  desperate 
character.  If  he  makes  the  least  resistance,  kill 
him.  You  will  know  if  In  resists  by  my  firing 
upon  him.  At  that  signal,  every  man  aim  at  his 
heart!" 

The  men  were  regular  soldiers,  and  accus 
tomed  to  obey  orders  without  dispute.  Theii 


BUNTED.  123 

heads  moved  in  assent ;  and,  directing  them  tc 
follow  him  a1;  the  distance  ol  twenty  yards,  the 
baronet  rode  on  with  Wilde. 

"  This  is  better,  after  all/'  he  said  in  a  low 
tone,  with  a  gloomy  and  lowering  frown ;  "  thie 
man  must  die  for  more  reasons  than  one.  He 
knows  what  will  destroy  both  you  and  me  —  he 
stands  in  my  way  yonder  at  Maverick  House 
and  there  is  still  another  reason,  as  I  need  not 
tell  you,  which  makes  hi&  death  necessary." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  added  in  a  still 
lower  tone. 

"  Let  him  die,  then  1  And  there  is  no  reason 
to  spare  him.  He  is  an  enemy  of  the  country, 
and  has  committed  burglary  and  abduction. 
His  life  is  forfeited  to  the  law.  He  will  hang 
for  what  he  has  done.  But  before  he  hangs  he 
will  speak,  Wilde !  — he  will  speak,  do  you  hear  ? 
And  then  it  is  you  and  I  who  will  mount  the 
gallows  after  him." 

Wilde's  expression  of  countenance  was  one  of 
much  disgust  at  this  announcement.  The  word 
"gallows"  seemed  to  have  a  sickening  effect 
upon  him.  He  shuddered. 

u  Your  honor  is  right  There  is  nothing  to 
flo  but  shoot  him  down.  I  have  my  carbine 
ready  ;  and  he  will  not  get  off." 


124 


"Good!" 

And  the  baroiet  rode  on  in  silence.  Tli« 
party  made  the  circuit  of  Oldport,  keeping  i  u  the 
shadow  of  the  woods.  Evening  gradually  drew 
near,  and  just  at  sunset  they  reached  the  forest 
on  the  slope  of  the  headland,  from  which  it  was 
easy  to  gain  on  foot  the  path  leading  up  the 
precipice. 

"  Dismount  and  follow  me,"  said  the  baronet, 
addressing  the  men. 

And  they  silently  dismounted,  tethered  theii 
horses,  and  followed  the  baronet  and  Wilde. 

The  gamekeeper  rapidly  led  the  way  along 
the  ledge  to  the  spot  where  the  boat  had  awaited 
Earle.  They  did  not  look  out  toward  the  chan 
nel  upon  which  the  mists  of  night  had  descended. 
Had  they  done  so,  they  might  have  perceived  a 
small  boat  vigorously  rowing  towards  the  head 
land  ;  and  on  the  horizon  of  water,  a  dusky  sail 
beating  up  in  the  same  direction, 

Both  escaped  the  attention  of  Wilde  and  the 
baronet. 

u  It  was  here  that  the  viscount  was  brought," 
said  Wilde,  "  and  our  man  escaped  up  that  path, 
Better  tell  the  men  to  be  quiet  I  will  lead 
the  way,  your  honor." 

"Doio." 


HUNTED.  124 

Ho  followed  Wilde,  and  tvas  fcllowed  in 
turn  by  the  men. 

As  they  ascended  the  steep  and  dangeiuai 
path,  the  last  red  beams  of  the  sun  died  away  in 
the  channel  mist ;  and  the  moon,  a  great  crim 
son  wheel,  was  rolled  into  the  eastern  sky  above 
the  fringe  of  the  savage  looking  evergreens  on 
the  horizon. 

"  Did  he  go  up  this  path  after  being  wounded  \ 
It  is  hard  to  believe  that,"  muttered  the  baro 
net. 

"  There  is  the  proof  of  it." 

And  Wilde  pointed  to  blood-stains  on  a 
rock. 

"He  must  have  leaned  against  that  rock; 
and  he  went  this  way,  or  by  some  other,  as  I 
saw  him  yonder." 

"  Yes,  yes  !    Come,  we  are  losing  time ! n 

And  he  hastened  after  Wilde  up  the  danger 
ous  pathway. 

"  Who  is  this  woman  with  whom  he  has  takei 
refuge  ? "  he  panted. 

"  A  strange  character  ;  a  sort  of  solitary." 

"  1  have  heard  of  her." 

"You  will  see  her  soon.     There  is  tho  hut." 

And  Wilde  pointed  to  iLe  caton  of  tfce  it 
duae. 


126  HUNTED. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  had  passed  the  dizzy 
ledge  near  the  summit,  and  just  as  the  last  light 
of  day  was  dying  away  from  the  headland,  th« 
baronet,  at  the  head  of  Wilde  and  the  men, 
rushed  upon  the  hut. 

In  a  moment  they  reached  it,  and  the  baronet, 
pistol  in  hand,  threw  himself  against  the  door. 

It  yielded  and  flew  open.  The  baronet  raised 
his  weapon. 

But  all  at  once  his  arm  fell,  and  he  staggered 
back  as  though  a  heavy  blow  had  struck  him.  By 
the  last  light  of  day,  it  could  be  seen  that  his  face 
had  grown  livid.  Crouching,  his  mouth  half 
open,  and  displaying  in  full  relief  the  hideous 
tusks  at  each  corner,  with  eyeballs  starting  from 
his  head  almost,  and  a  cold  sweat  bursting  forth 
upon  his  forehead,  he  was  gazing  at  the  solitary 
woman,  who,  erect,  cold,  and  with  her  eyes 
fixed  intently  upon  him,  stood  stiffly  in  the  cen 
tre  of  the  apartment. 

"  You ! "  exclaimed  the  baronet,  in  a  voice 
nearly  stifled  by  fear  or  astonishment.  "  You  ! 
Is  it  a  corpse  I  see  ?  You  I  Then  you  are  not 
deadl" 

u  1  am  alive,  as  you  see,"  returned  the  recluse 
in  a  oold  And  'inmoved  voice. 

Sir  MurdAugh  Westbrooke  recoiled,  gazing 


127 


at  her  with  an  air  of  stupefaction.     In  spite  of 
his  self-possession,  he  trembled. 

"You!  "  he  repeated.  And  he  drew  a  long, 
deep  breath,  as  though  something  were  pressing 
heavily  upon  his  breast. 

"I,  and  I  alone  !  He  whom  you  seek  is  not 
here." 

The  baronet  glanced  aiound.  It  was  utterly 
impossible  that  any  one  could  be  concealed  in 
the  cabin. 

"  Good  !  "  he  said.  •'  That  matter  can  wait, 
then.  I  see  you  know  on  what  errand  I  came. 
I,  in  my  turn,  wish  to  know  how  it  is  that  you 
are  alive,  and  what  brings  you  here  ?  " 

He  turned  to  Wilde. 

"  Go  with  the  men  to  their  horses.  I  will 
Boon  rejoin  you." 

Wilde  inclined  his  head,  and  went  with  the 
party  in  the  direction  indicated,  only  he  took  a 
path  leading  down  the  slope  toward  the  interior^ 
not  that  by  which  they  had  come. 

"  Now  for  much  in  a  short  space,"  said  the 
baronet,  looking  sidewise  at  the  woman. 

It  was  an  evil  look,  and  his  hand  was  on  his 
pistol  as  he  spoke. 

"  Neither  of  us  know  how  long  we  may  li  ve,' 
added  the  baronet,  with  a  gastly  grin;  "  and  bo 


128  HUNTED. 

fore  we  die  it  will  be  as  well  thr.t  we  should 
Lave  a  short  talk  together,  madam." 

"  I  listen,  Sir  Murda  ugh  Westbrooke,"  Bald 
the  recluse,  seating  herself  composedly. 

"  Your  manners  remain  as  lofty  as  ever,  I 
perceive,  madam." 

"  It  is  natural,  since  I  am  Lady  Westbrooke, 
sir." 

"  True,  madam,"  came  with  an  ominoua 
scowl  from  the  baronet,  who  remained  standing. 
"I  had  lost  sight  of  —  or  forgotten  the  fact  thai 
700  are  my  wife." 


•i«&-r 


CHAPTER  IL 


THE   BAKONET   AND   THE   SOLITABT. 

'HE  solitary  woman  gazed  at  him  with 
perfect  coolness  and  even  with  curiosity. 
"  You  no  doubt  regret  the  fact  that  I 
am  Lady  Westbrooke,  sir,"  she  said ;  "  but 
that  is  the  truth,  nevertheless.  It  affords  me 
little  gratification  to  claim  the  title,  but  I  can 
not  discard  it.  We  meet  to-night  for  the  first 
time  for  twenty  years  nearly ;  and  a  bad  errand 
brings  you  hither.  Better  that  you  had  not 
come  —  " 

"And  intruded  myself  upon  your  ladyship! 
Well,  perhaps  you  are  right ;  but  I  have  little 
time  at  present.  Answer  me  :  how  and  when 
and  why  did  you  come  to  live  in  this  wild 
spot?  ' 
"  Many  years  sinfte." 

0  (189) 


130  BARONET  AND  SOLITARY. 

«  Your  object?" 

*To  prevent  you  from  committing  a  great 


**  Thanks,  madam,  for  your  pious  guardian- 
ghip  ;  but  may  I  beg  to  be  informed  what  BUI 
you  allude  to  ?  " 

"  A  second  marriage  during  my  life  —  the 
life  of  your  lawful  wife,"  was  the  calm  re- 
Bjxmse. 

Sir  Murdaugh  "Westbrooke's  countenance  as 
sumed  an  expression  utterly  hideous  at  these 
words. 

"  Ah  I  that  is  the  sin  which  you  kindly  pro 
pose  to  prevent  me  from  committing,  madam  ?  " 
he  growled. 

"  It  is." 

"  You  are  a  hypocrite  I  You  came  hither 
with  some  other  object  !  "  he  half  shouted. 

This  sudden  rage  brought  a  defiant  flush  to 
the  solitary's  pale  face. 

"  You  charge  me  with  lying,  then  ?  "  she  said, 
coldly. 

"  Yes  :  deception  is  your  element." 

"  This  to  me,  from  you  1  That  is  wonderful, 
rir,  and  well-nigh  surpasses  belief." 

The  words  seemed  to  still  further  increase 
the  rage  of  the  baronet,  and  his  glance  grew 


BARONET  AND  SOLITARY.  131 

terriole.  More  than  once,  a  sudden  clutch  on 
the  weapon  in  his  grasp  seemed  to  indicate  a 
mad  desire  to  remove  then  and  there  this  obsta- 
cle  from  his  path. 

But  his  fury  had  no  effect  upon  the  woman : 
she  remained  cold  and  composed. 

"Listen,  Sir  Murdaugh  "Westbrooke,"  she 
said.  "  You  charge  me  with  deceiving  you,  and 
coming  hither  with  some  covert  and  unworthy 
object.  Do  you  think  my  past  life — an  un 
happy  life  —  supports  that  idea?  What  was 
that  life,  and  what  did  you  make  it?  I  was 
a  happy  girl  in  the  village  of  Martigny  in  Nor 
mandy,  as  gay  as  the  roses  blooming  under  our 
bright  French  sun,  when  one  day  there  came  to 
my  father's  house  in  the  village,  a  young  English 
man.  Chance  brought  on  this  visit,  and  my 
wretched  beauty  —  they  said  I  was  beautiful  — 
did  the  rest.  My  father,  an  officer  of  the  navy, 
was  absent,  and  my  old  aunt  watched  over  me. 
You  were  that  young  Englishman,  sir.  You 
won  over  my  aunt ;  you  became  enamoured  of 
me ;  you  would  have  made  me  your  victim,  if 
I  had  not  been  too  ignorant  even  to  unde.Tstand 
your  base  hints ;  and  in  the  end,  when  you  found 
that  I  was  unassailable,  you  were  mastered  by 
your  passion  for  me  —  you  proposed  for  my 


132  BARONET  AND  SOLITARY. 

hand,  and  my  aunt  forced  me  to  marry  yon. 
The  ceremony  took  place:  I  became  Ladj 
Westbrooke." 

The  baronet  grinned  hideously.  The  yellow 
teeth  protruded  like  the  tusks  of  a  vvild  boar. 

"You  narrate  with  extreme  clearness,  mad 
am,  and  recall  the  happy  days  of  my  life.  Yes, 
I,  an  Englishman  of  rank,  married  the  daugh' 
ter  of  a  poor  sea-captain.  He  was  lost  at  sea, 
nearly  at  the  moment  I  married  you.  Thus 
you  were  a  mere  pauper,  having  nothing  beside 
his  pay.  Well,  what  next,  madam  ? " 

The  face  of  the  solitary  flushed  hot. 

"  This  it  is  to  be  a  person  of  l  rank,'  sir !  You 
taunt  a  poor  woman  with  her  poverty  —  you 
hint  that  I  was  designing,  sir.  I  loathed  you 
at  the  very  moment,  when  I  placed  my  hand  in 
yours ;  my  aunt  compelled  me  to  marry  you 
French  girls  have  no  word  in  these  arrange 
ments.  Yes,  my  poor  father  was  dead  —  would 
he  had  appeared  ind  forbidden  the  terrible 
sacrifice  I  was  forced  to  make." 

A  sneer  settled  on  the  baronet's  face. 

"  Well,  all  this  is  interesting,  madam,"  he 
paid,  "  but  not  very  important.  Oblige  me  by 
coming  to  the  events  which  brought  Lady 
Westbrooke  to  this  crag  m  the  coast  of  Walea* 


BARONET  AND  SOLITARY.  133 

"  1  will  gratify  your  curiosity,  sir,"  the  recluse 
said,  coldly,  "and  tell  you  everything  w-thcut 
reservation.  You  had  married  me  for  my  face 
merely,  and  six  months  afterwards  were  tired 
:f  the  face.  You  began  to  treat  me  badly  — 
wearied  of  the  quiet  of  the  old  house  in  Mar- 
tigny  where  we  had  lived  since  the  day  we  were 
united.  In  the  end  you  began  to  quarrel ;  you 
treated  me  cruelly,  and  laughed  in  my  aunt's 
face,  when  she  wished  you  to  take  me  to  your 
own  house  and  acknowledge  me  publicly  as 
Lady  Westbrooke.  That  enraged  my  aunt ;  but 
1  had  a  much  greater  ground  for  melancholy. 
You  were  a  Protestant,  I  a  Catholic.  I  had 
thus  married  a  heretic,  and  the  union,  in  my 
eyes,  was  sinful." 

"  Which  led  you,  my  dear  madam,  to  desert 
me  —  " 

"  Just  as  you  were  on  the  point  of  deserting 
me.  Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  you  are  right,  madam ;  I  acknowledge 
that  my  married  life  had  grown  cu  «edly  weari- 
Bome.  I  was  thinking  of  leaving  you  and  youi 
doll  face,  and  had  even  prepared  to  do  so.  It 
was  a  coincidence  —  two  fond  sp juses  mutually 
plotting  in  secret  to  desert  each  other." 

The  woman  preserved  i  disdainful  silence. 


134  BARONET  AND  SOLJ7ARY. 

"  Think  !  the  affair  was  really  comic  "  ad  le<f 
tlie  baronet,  grinning.  "You  watching  me, 
and  I  watching  you  ;  each  afraid  that  the  other 
would  discover  the  secret  ;  each  fearing  detec 
tion,  pursuit,  and  a  renewal  of  the  hateful  union  . 
while  eacli  in  reality  thirsted  for  the  separation.'- 

"Have  you  finished,  sir?"  said  the  recluse, 
coldly.  "  If  so,  I  will  continue." 

"  I  have  finished,  madam,"  returned  the  bar 
onet,  with  a  bow  of  mock  respect,  "  and  shall  be 
glad  to  hear  the  rest  of  your  ladyship's  interest 
ing  narrative." 

"  It  shall  be  communicated  in  few  words,  sir. 
You  were  cruel  to  me;  treated  me  with  con 
tempt;  more  than  once  were  near  striking  mo; 
in  addition  to  which  you  were  a  heretic,  and  I 
was  perilling  my  soul's  salvation  by  listening  in 
silence  to  your  sneers  at  our  holy  church. 
Then  I  prayed  for  guidence  from  heaven,  and 
something  said  to  me,  '  Leave  him  :  he  will 
destroy  you.'  I  accordingly  fled  from  Mar- 
* 


"  And  on  the  very  day,  that  I  went  in  the 
opposite  direction,  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
madam  !  " 

A  burst  of  sombre  laug  iter  accompanied 
these  words  of  the  baronet 


BARONET  AND  SCLlTA  ?  K 

tt  It  is  well,  sir,"  -was  his  companion's  reply  j 
"then  the  sin  I  committed,  if  it  te  a  sin,  had 
that  palliation  at  least.  I  left  you,  very  mis 
erable;  but  carrying  with  me  some  consolation, — 
ths  child  who  had  come  to  prove  a  solace  to  me 
in  my  wretchedness.  I  went  to  a  distant  rela 
tive's  ;  the  boy  grew  and  loved  me ;  he  was 
placed  in  the  marine,  became  a  man,  won  his 
way  to  the  command  of  a  ship  by  his  courage 
and  high  character ;  then  I  came  hither,  fearing 
that  you  would  be  led  to  commit  a  great  sin,  — 
the  sin  of  marrying  a  second  time  during  the 
life  of  your  lawful  wife." 

The  baronet  grinned. 

"Why  not,  your  ladyship?  Intent  makes 
sin  ;  and  I  have  not  sinned  in  intent !  Did  I 
not  believe  that  you  and  the  boy  were  lost  at 
aea?  That  was  your  device,  was  it  not?  You 
conveyed  that  intelligence  to  me?" 

"I  did,  sir.  It  was  a  sin;  but  committed  to 
avoid  a  greater  one,  —  that  of  remaining  with 
you;  and  had  you  believed  me  and  the  boy 
alive,  I  feared  you  would  pursue  us,  and  force 
us  back." 

"  And  destroy  your  soul's  salvation,  my  pi^uB 
spouse." 

uYes;  mine  and  tre  boy's.    I  did  evil  thai 


136  BARONET  AND  SOLITARY. 

good  might  come  of  it.  Tcu  were  a  heretic 
and  a  vicious  man;  you  blasphemed  o\ir  holy 
church  ;  had  you  forced  me  to  return,  I  should 
have  been  compelled  to  listen  to  that  daily, 
and  worse  still,  you  would  have  corrupted  and 
poisoned  the  heart  of  the  child.  So  I  originated 
and  had  conveyed  to  you  that  report  of  cur 
death.  Years  passed.  I  had  lied  to  prevent  a 
terrible  impiety;  but  then  came  the  thought, 
that  my  pious  fraud  would  lead  you  to  this  sin. 
You  thought  me  dead ;  you  might  marry  again ; 
it  was  my  duty  to  prevent  that.  So  I  came 
hither  and  watched  you,  sir ;  not  from  love,  — 
I  never  loved  you,  —  but  from  a  sense  of  duty. 
Yon  did  not  suspect  my  presence  here,  but  I 
was  near  Westbrooke  Hall  and  must  have  heard 
of  your  intended  marriage.  I  have  lived  poorly ; 
have  waited  :  but  for  accident  you  would  not 
have  discovered  me." 

The  voice  was  silent. 

"  Well,  you  have  related  an  entertaining  his 
tory,  madam.  A  misalliance,  desertion  the  soli 
tary  life  of  a  recluse  on  a  storm-beaten  crag, 
where  your  only  amusement,  I  am  informed,  io 
to  build  beacon  fires,  in  the  intervals  of  watch- 
ing  over  the  morals  of  your  dear  spouse, — what 
could  be  mere  romantic,  more  touching,  arid 


BARONET  AND  SOLITARY.  H7 

like  the  story-books  1  And  may  I  ask  you? 
future  intentions,  madam? " 

"  To  remain  where  1  am  and  live  as  I  have 
lived,  sir." 

«Ahl" 

And  the  baronet's  face  grew  dark. 

"Suppose,  in  spite  of  all,  I  should  contract 
marriage  with  some  second  fair  one  ? " 

"You  dare  not!" 

"  Ah !  I  warn  you  I  am  a  tolerably  daring 
person,  madam ! " 

"  You  will  not  /narry,  because  ytfu.  would 
thereby  commit  the  legal  offence  of  bigamy. 
The  law  of  God  might  not  restrain  you  —  the 
law  of  man  would  punish  you." 

"  You  round  your  sentences  charmingly, 
madam ;  but  I  beg  to  remind  your  ladyship  of 
one  fact,  —  that  you  are  supposed  to  be  dead, 
and  even  are  such  on  your  own  authority. 
Why,  then,  should  I  not  marry?  Widowers, 
however  sad,  marry." 

"  You  will  not  marry,  for  a  good  reason, 
sir." 

"  What  is  that,  madam,  will  you  please  in 
form  me  ? " 

w  Because  the  marriage  of  Marianne  Earle 
and  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  baronet,  ie  re* 


1 38  BAROKE T  AJfti  SOLifAK  V. 

cordel  in  the  parish  register  at  Maitigny,  .jn 
Normandy ! " 

The  baronet  started,  and  turned  pale. 

"  Fool  that  I  was  to  forget  that ! "  he 
muttered ;  "  it  is  incredible  how  men  will 
blunder!" 

Then  looking  at  his  companion  sidewise,  and 
with  a  wary  glance,  — 

"  What  you  say  is  very  true,  madam,  and  I 
have  not  the  remotest  intention  of  becoming 
a  bigamist,"  he  said. 

A  keen  glance  accompanied  the  last  words. 
The  recluse  seomed  neither  to  believe  or  dis 
believe  them. 

"  And  now  to  and  our  interesting  conversation, 
madam.  You  propose  to  remain  here  until  I 
marry  ? " 

«  Or  I  die." 

"  That  would  bt  Bad ;  and  as  a  Catholic  you 
would  doubtless  confess  yourself  to  a  priest  ? " 

«  Yes." 

"  Revealing  your  true  name  ?  * 

"  My  name  and  whole  life." 

"  So  that  if  I  should  unfortunately  be  married, 
my  marriage  would  be  shown  to  )e  illegal  ? n 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said,  with  the  spirit  of  muf 


BARONET  AND  SOLITARY.  139 

der  in  his  low  voice  ;  "  and  now  for  a  tst  point. 
Where  is  that  boy?" 

The  recluse  looked  intently  at  him. 

"Be  at  rest  —  you  mean  him  mischief,  un 
natural  father !  but  he  is  beyond  your  reach." 

"Where?" 

« I  will  not  reply !  " 

"  Beware  how  you  defy  me  1 "  he  said,  ad 
vancing  a  step  toward  her. 

"  I  fear  you  not  1 " 

"  Answer  1 " 

«  I  will  not ! " 

He  seized  her  wrists  furiously. 

'Reply!  or  — !" 

"  Kill  me,  if  you  please  1 "  said  the  woman, 
coldly,  and  exhibiting  no  signs  of  pain.  "  Do 
you  think  I  value  my  life?  I  despise  your 
threats  and  violence,  and  will  tell  you  nothing, 
though  you  murder  me ! " 

She  wrenched  her  hands  from  him. 

"Go!"  she  said,  rising  to  her  full  height; 
"the  boy  has  never  wronged  you.  It  is  I,  if 
any  one,  who  should  softer." 

"  And  I  swear  you  shall ! "  howled  the  bar 
onet  ;  "  at  present  I  have  that  to  attend  t  >.  I 
will  not  give  up  the  search  yet.  I  go  now, 
Dut  beware  of  me  when  I  return  1 " 


140         BARONET  AND  SOLITARY. 

With  these  words  he  hastened  from  the  hut 
and  rapidly  descended  the  path  taken  by  Wilde 
and  the  men. 

In  ten  minutes,  such  was  his  haste,  ho  reached 
the  clump  of  trees  in  which  they  waited  beside 
their  horses. 

"  Mount ! "  he  ordered. 

The  men  threw  themselves  into  the  saddle. 

The  baronet  and  Wilde  rode  in  front,  at  full 
gallop. 

"  He  is  at  Maverick  House  !"  said  the  former, 
hoarsely ;  "  and  to-night  may  end  that  matter, 
Wilde.  But  I  have  other  work  fo^  you  I  Be 
ready  to  set  out  for  France  at  daylight." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  You  were  at  Martigny  with  me  —  you  i-e- 
member  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  listen  now  to  my  instructions,  and  see 
that  you  obey  them  to  the  letter.  If  you  suc 
ceed  —  a  thousand  pounds  sterling !  If  you  fail, 
find  sonr.e  other  master.  Now  listen  !  " 

And  in  rapid  words  he  gave  the  man  his  in 
structions  as  they  went  on  at  full  gallop. 

As  the  baronet  ended,  Maverick  House  glim 
mered  before  them  in  the  moonl;ght  a  quartei 
of  a  mile  distant 


BARONET  AND  SOLITARY.  141 

"  The  time  is  near !  "  he  said ;  "  nc  faltering: 
Wilde  !  this  man  must  die  !  " 

And  turning  to  the  men,  — 

"  The  desperado  we  are  in  search  of  is  here  I " 
he  said,  "  and  ready  to  resist.  At  the  signal 
from  me,  fire  on  him  !  Shoot  him  down  —  a 
hundred  guineas  to  the  man  who  kills  him  I n 


CHAPTER  IIL 


WHAT  ONE  WOMAN  18  CAPABLE  OP  TOWARD 
ANOTHER. 

hour  or  two  before,  Ellinor  and  Hose 
Maverick  had  issued  forth,  and  strolled 
over  the  russet  lawn,  to  enjoy  the  mild  and 
caressing  airs  of  the  autumn  evening. 
It  was  what  is  called  "  St.  Martin's  Summer." 
The  breeze  was  soft,  and  fanned  their  foreheads 
like  the  zephyrs  of  spring.  The  cutting  blasts 
had  not  whirled  the  brown  leaves  from  the 
trees.  The  year  was  going  to  his  death  in  his 
trappings  of  golden  sunsets ;  mists  curled 
around  the  headlands ;  the  moonlight,  mixing 
with  the  orange  tint  in  the  west,  s'ept  serenely 
on  the  charming  landscape. 

The  two  girls  had  wandered  some  distance  in 
the  shrubbery. 

(143) 


TWO   WOMEN.  143 

The  superb  beauty  of  Ellinor  was  Tiii  clanged 
Her  dark  eyes  sparkled  with  satirical  wit,  hei 
lips  curled  with  irony,  and  the  magnetic  glances 
kept  for  the  male  sex  had  given  way  to  an  ex 
pression  best  described  as  "  spiteful." 

Hose  was  much  altered.  The  delicate  carna 
tion  of  her  cheeks  had  disappeared.  She  walk 
ed  over  the  russet  turf  with  slow  and  languid 
steps.  It  was  the  pale  flower  of  autumn  beside 
the  dazzling  rose  of  summer,  and  the  summer 
flower  seemed  to  be  amusing  herself  at  the  ex 
pense  of  the  autumn  primrose. 

"  What  a  very  romantic  affair !  Who  would 
ever  have  believed  it  ?"  said  Ellinor,  satirically. 
"  The  elegant  and  high-born  Miss  Rose  Maver 
ick  in  a  love-sick  condition  about  an  unknown 
adventurer ! " 

Rose  turned  her  head  impatiently,  and  a 
Blight  color  came  to  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  Ellinor,  that  it  was 
unpleasant  to  me  to  be  spoken  to  in  that  man 
ner,"  she  said. 

".I  don't  believe  it  1 "  was  the  reply,  It  is  not 
unpleasant,  my  quiet  little  cousin  1  You  are 
proud  of  your  romance.  Come,  confess  I  are 
you  ashamed  of  your — well,  of  your  friend- 
thip  for  the  handsome  Mr.  Delamere  I " 


144  TWO   WOMLN. 

u  I  am  nc  t,'?  said  Rose,  firmly.  "  He  saved 
my  life,  w  he  did  yonrs.  We  owt  him  friend 
ship,  at  least  —  " 

"  And  love  ?  Ah  1  you  wince,  my  pretty 
cousin.  ^L  our  blushes  betray  you." 

Rose  Maverick  drew  herself  up  with  some 
hauteur,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Oh  I  there  is  your  fine  air  again,  my  Lady 
Disdain  ! "  snarled  the  fair  Ellinor.  "  If  you 
are  not  in  love  with  him,  why  have  you  drooped 
a  flower  when  the  frost  comes,  ever  since 
night  when  he  disappeared  so  mysteri 
ously?  Before,  your  spirits  were  excellent,  and 
1  think  the  goody  old  people,  if  not  the  men, 
liked  you  much  better  than  they  liked  me,  pre 
ferring  your  "  sweet  smile,  full  of  native  good 
ness,"  one  of  them  said,  I  remember,  "  to  my 
brilliant  glances."  Well,  where  is  the  sweet 
smile  ?  Why  do  you  sit  for  hours  in  sad  mu 
sings  ?  Why  have  you  lost  all  interest  in  your 
flowers,  and  even  forgot  to  feed  your  linnet 
yesterday  ?  I  reply  that  you  are  in  love  —  in 
love  with  the  interesting  unknown  1 " 

Rose  had  turned  with  an  offended  air  to 
re-enter  the  house. 

Ellinor  followed,  goading  and  snapping  at 
her. 


TWO    WOMEN. 


K  Deny  it,  if  you  dare,  my  romantic  cousin  1  " 
she  said. 

Rose  made  no  reply.  She  walked  qtdetly  to 
ward  the  house,  her  companion  beside  her,  and 
laughing  maliciously. 

"  Now  you  really  ought  to  have  taken  pattern 
by  my  insignificant  self,"  went  on  her  torment 
or.  "  The  late  interesting  Mr.  Delamere  had 
the  bad  taste  to  prefer  me  to  you.  I  am  penni 
less,  only  a  poor  girl,  but  he  honored  me  by  his 
attentions  ;  in  spite  of  which  I  remained  quite 
heart-whole  and  not  in  the  least  romantic  about 
ue  handsome  stranger.  Oh,  he  said  a  number 
jf  things  to  me  !  Did  I  never  tell  you  that  be 
fore  ?  He  looked  at  me  in  such  a  way  !  He 
told  me  at  last  —  but  here  I  am  becoming  in 
discreet.  If  he  did  not  kiss  my  shoes,  and  lay 
his  neck  down  for  me  to  place  my  foot  upon,  it 
was  only  because  he  saw  that  I  was  too  proper 
a  young  lady  to  encourage  a  strange  adven 
turer  !  There  is  the  blush  again,  and  this  time 
it  is  an  angry  blush.  Yery  well,  but  this  ia 
true.  He  would  have  knelt  down  qiuckly 
enough,  if  he  had  hoped  I  would  raise  him  up 
in  my  arms  !  And  what  he  did  do  was  some 
thing!  He  —  " 

"  I  am  weary  of  all  this,"  said  Rose,  stung  to 
10 


146  TWO   WOMEN. 


the  quick.  "  I  wonder  you  tako  suc'i  pains  to 
prove  that  you  are  heartless,  Ellinor.  Yon  are 
witty  and  brilliant,  yon  think.  Other  persona 
would  call  your  wit  ill-temper." 

The  words  went  home  and  aroused  in  the 
ironical  Ellinor  a  good  old-fashioned  tit  of  pure 
anger. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,  my  fine  cousin  1  "  she 
cried.  "  You  treat  me,  as  usual,  to  moral  and 
scriptural  abuse.  Thank  your  ladyship  1  But 
'tis  enough  for  the  present.  I'll  go  home  now 
and  hear  the  rest  of  the  sermon  on  another  oc 
casion.  Thank  you  !  —  I  am  *  ill-tempered  '  1 
Oh,  yes  !  And  all  because  I  refer  to  what 
everybody  is  speaking  of  !  I  say  what  every 
body  is  speaking  of  ,  madam  !  —  your  lovesick 
state  of  mind  all  about  this  unknown  stranger, 
Mr.  Delamere  !  The  very  neighbors  laugh  at 
it  1  You  have  no  pride,  they  say.  They  won 
der,  as  your  family  wonder,  that  you  should 
thus  honor  a  person  of  unknown  position  and 
olood,  that  ever  since  he  disappeared  in  that 
mysterious,  and,  I  must  say,  very  suspicious 
manner,  you  shouM  have  mourned  him  and 
cried  about  him,  and  loved  the  very  chair  he 
sat  in!  That  is  all  I  have  to  say,  madam  1  *  Ill- 
tempered  '  I  " 


TWO    WOMEN.  147 

And  the  fair  Ellinor  tossed  her  head  in  an 
perb  wrath. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  I  have  said  to  expose 
myself  to  that  insult!"  she  added.  "'Ill- 
tempered'!  and  all  because  I  laugh  at  your 
infatuation  about  an  adventurer  I " 

"Mr.  Delamere  was  not  an  adventurer  1 " 
was  Rose's  cold  response. 

"  What,  then,  was  he  ?  this  charming  stranger, 
whose  amateur  fishing  excursions  terminated  so 
mysteriously,  and  so  very  suspiciously." 

"  I  see  no  mystery  and  no  ground  for  suspic 
ion  in  his  disappearance,"  was  Rose  Maverick's 
response.  "  You  know  as  well  as  1  do,  Ellinor, 
that  he  has  been  missing  since  the  night  of  the 
attack  on  Westbrooke  Hall,  when  the  Yi&count 
Cecil  was  carried  off.  It  is  nearly  certain  now, 
as  you  know  equally  well,  that  this  attack  was 
made  by  a  party  of  Frenchmen  from  a  vessel, 
in  the  channel,  and  that  their  object  was  to  ab 
duct  persons  of  rank  to  hold  as  hostages." 

"  Pray  what  has  that  to  do  with  it,  if  I  may 
address  a  question  without  offence  to  your 
ladyship?" 

"  Simply  this.  Mr.  Delamere  w  is  returning 
from  his  visit  here  to  Oldport,  on  the  night  of 
the  attack.  On  the  next  morning  he  had  dis- 


TWO   WOMEN. 

appeared,  and  his  horse  was  found  grazing  in  the 
fields.  Nothing  further  is  known ;  but  it  is  cer 
tainly  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  too  was  car 
ried  off,  —  since  his  dress,  demeanor,  and  all 
connected  with  him,  you  will  not  deny,  indi 
cated  that  he  was  a  gentleman.  As  such  he 
was  worth  attention.  He  was  seen  no  more 
Is  it  so  improbable  that  the  French  people  cap 
tured  him?" 

"A  fine  theory,  indeed ! " 

"  It  is  at  least  more  charitable  than  to  con 
clude  that  he  was  an  adventurer  and  disappeared 
as  he  came, — "mysteriously." 

"  You  defend  your  protege*  well,  madam.1 

"  I  take  the  part  of  the  absent,  who  are  de 
famed." 

"  And  the  absent  thanks  you ! "  said  a  voice 
in  the  shrubbery,  very  near  them. 

The  young  ladies  recoiled,  and  uttering  ex 
clamations,  gazed  with  affright  toward  the 
shadow. 

A  figure  wrapped  in  a  cloak  advanced.  The 
face  was  pale,  thin,  and  worn,  but  resolute  and 
stern. 

It  was  Earle. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    SAILOB   AND   HIS   SHIP, 

SUDDEN  and  unexpected  event  was  the 
occasion  of  Earle's  presence  at  Maverick 
House. 

He  had  remained  prostrate  on  a  couch 
of  illness  for  weeks  after  the  night  of  the  attack 
on  Westbrooke  Hall  —  the  recluse  watching 
over  him  in  the  solitary  hut  with  deep  solici 
tude  and  tenderness. 

At  last  the  wound  in  his  shoulder  had  healed 
He  had  left  his  sick  bed.  The  fresh  breeze 
of  the  ocean  infused  new  life  into  his  frame ; 
and  seated  for  hours  on  the  bench  in  front  of 
the  rude  cabin  on  the  great  headland,  he  had 
looked  through  his  glass  out  en  the  channel  and 
along  the  coast. 
Where  was  the  corvette?  he  asked  himself, 


150  THE  SAILOR  AND  HIS  SHIP. 

What  had  become  of  his  beloved  craft?  The 
sailor  loves  his  ship,  and  the  fate  of  the  corvette 
was  ever  on  Earle's  mind.  Had  she  arrived 
gafely  with  her  prize,  the  viscount,  or  had  she 
been  chased  and  captured  by  some  English 
frigate?  "Was  she  riding  in  pride,  or  sunk 
fathoms  deep  beneath  the  waves  of  St.  George's 
Channel  ? 

He  had  been  seated  in  his  customary  seat  on 
that  morning,  gazing  through  his  glass  and 
asking  himself  these  questions,  when  all  at  once 
the  recluse  saw  him  rise  to  his  feet,  and  heard 
him  utter  an  exclamation,  almost  a  cry,  of  joy. 

The  corvette  was  visible  in  the  offing !  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  object  of  his  pride  and 
affection!  The  eye  of  the  sailor  knows  his 
craft,  as  the  eye  of  the  lover  knows  hid  mistress. 
There  was  the  corvette  slowly  beating  up 
toward  the  boast  of  Pembrokeshire  ;  and  as  his 
mother  hastened  to  his  side,  Earle  pointed  the 
vessel  out  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  There  she  is,  mother !" 

"  Your  ship,  my  son  ? "  said  the  poor  recluse, 
not  sharing  his  joy. 

"Yes,  yes,  mother!  My  own  corvette  I— • 
coming  to  rescue  her  commander." 

H  Then  you  will  leave  me  I " 


THE  SAILOR  AND  HIS  SHIP.  151 

He  turned  toward  her,  and  looked  at  hei  with 
great  tenderness. 

"  See  how  strong  the  sailor  spirit  is  in  me 
I  had  not  thought  of  that,"  he  said. 

"  While  I  think  first  of  it.  You  go,  and  I 
shall  be  alone  agai  j." 

Her  voice  was  full  of  melancholy,  and  the 
sailor's  joy  was  dimmed. 

"  Come  with  me,  my  mother.  Leave  this 
wild  and  lonely  spot.  Your  native  Normandy 
is  brighter  than  this  land;  come!  Nothing 
there  shall  ever  part  us." 

"You  say  Normandy:  how  do  you  know 
that  Normandy  is  my  birthplace?"  said  the 
recluse,  suddenly. 

"  From  your  missal,  mother,  —  the  little  book 
you  pray  from.  I  found  it  on  the  table  near 
my  sick  couch,  and  opened  it.  On  the  first 
leaf  is  written, '  Marianne  Earle,  Martigny,  Nor 
mandy.'  " 

The  recluse  was  silent. 

"  Until  now  I  had  thought  you  a  native  of  the 
South,  mother,  where  we  always  lived ;  but  you 
•never  told  me  any  thing.  There  will  be  time, 
to  discuss  all  this,  however.  Now  time  is  want- 
Ing.  Sec  1  look  through  my  glass.  There  is  a 
;  it  IB  Dargmne,  on  the  deck  of  the  cor- 


152  T&E  SAtLOR  AND  tflS  SttlP. 

vette.    He  has  his  glass,  and  is  looking  for  met 
He  waves  his  handkerchief,  and  I  reply." 

Earle  waved  his  own  handkerchief. 

a  You  see,  mother  1  Get  ready  to  come  with 
me." 

"  I  cannot" 

"Why  not!" 

"  I  must  remain  here.  Do  not  ask  me  why, 
my  son." 

u  And  we  shall  part  1 " 

"  It  breaks  my  heart,  but  I  must  remain,  Ed- 
mond.  Ask  me  not  why." 

"Enough,  my  mother;  I  will  say  no  more. 
Women  like  yourself  never  yield.  I  must  go ; 
but  I  will  return.  My  duty  calls  m<  now,  but 
we  shall  still  love  each  other.  See  1  he  signal 
flags  are  run  up.  I  read  them  as  I  ro  d  print." 

"What  do  they  say?" 

Earle  looked  through  his  glass,  and  repeated 
slowly  as  the  fluttering  signal  flags  ayl>  4>led  the 
message, — 

"Be  at — the  old  place  —  to-night." 

u  The  recluse  sank  upon  the  bench. 

**  Then  it  is  ended  —  all  my  happiness  at  Bee 
Ing  you  near  me,  my  child,"  she  murmurs  i. 

And  looking  at  him,  she  said  to  herself  in  a 
low  voice, — 


tub  s.itLok  AND  ais  smp.        158 

"  He  does  not  hear  me ;  he  is  looking  at  his 
vessel,  waving  his  handkerchief.  That  means 
that  he  will  be  punctual.  Oh !  why  do  we  love 
in  this  world?  Why  do  we  become  wrapped 
up  in  human  beings  until  we  are  unhappy  with 
out  them  ?  Then  they  go  —  we  are  alone — our 
very  love  works  our  woe.  Alas!  my  child  is 
going  to  leave  me,  and  I  will  be  alone." 

Earle  turned  toward  her,  joyously. 

"See!  she  understands  my  signal,  mother. 
She  has  tacked  about,  content — is  making  for 
the  coast  of  Ireland  —  but  she  will  be  here 
withont  fail,  again,  to-night ! " 


CHAPTER  V.  ,     % 

SABLE'S  DESIGN. 

S  evening  approached,  Earle  dressed  liim- 
self  in  bis  full  uniform  of  a  captain  in 
the  French  navy,  buckled  on  his  belt  and 
pistols,  and,  wrapping  his  cloak  around 
him,  turned  to  the  recluse. 

"I  am  going  to  be  absent  for  an  hour,  my 
mother,"  he  said.  "A  last  duty  makes  this 
necessary.  Be  not  afraid :  I  will  soon  return, 
and  then  I  will  renew  my  persuasions  to  induce 
you  to  embark  with  me  for  France.  Reflect  that 
il  will  make  me  very  happy,  mother;  and  the 
good  God  watch  over  you." 

He  left  the  hut.  The  recluse  had  made  no 
response.  Bending  down  and  weeping  silently, 
she  presented  an  appearance  of  the  deepest  de 
jection. 


KARLE'S  DESIGN.  155 

Earle  threw  a  last  tender  glance  toward  her 
and  disappeared  in  the  dusk  of  evening. 

He  followed  the  path  leading  down  the  head 
land,  in  the  direction  of  Maverick  House ;  and 
just  as  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  with  his 
party,  left  Westbrooke  Hall  in  pursuit  of  him, 
entered  the  Maverick  woods,  half  a  league  from 
the  mansion. 

As  he  went  on  with  firm  tread,  and  an  ex 
pression  of  stern  resolution  upon  his  features,  he 
muttered  to  himself,  — 

"  Yes :  this  is  a  duty,  and  I  will  not  leave  the 
country  without  performing  it.  Chance  has 
placed  me  in  possession  of  a  secret  intimately 
•oncerning  Arthur  Maverick,  the  man  who  has 
c*  Vd  me  friend,  and  his  household ;  a  mur 
derer  is  about  to  enter  that  household  as  the 
husband  of  one  of  the  family  whose  head  he 
has  assassinated.  I  alone,  besides  the  gypsy, 
who  has  disappeared,  can  warn  the  victim.  I 
swear  I  will  do  so,  and  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
not  in  the  least  from  a  mean  jealousy;  and  then, 
if  the  marriage  takes  place,  let  it  take  place." 

He  went  on  rapidly.  Pale  and  thin  as  he 
was,  it  was  evident  that  his  physical  vigor  was 
nearly  unabated. 

"  Jealousy  1"  he  muttered  as  he  proceeded 


156  EARL&S  DESIGN, 

beneath  the  huge  boughs,  toward  Maverick 
House,  —  "  jealousy !  oh,  no !  I  swear  that  I  am 
not  in  the  least  jealous.  The  love  I  had  for 
that  woman  is  dead.  She  made  me  crazy  for  a 
time;  but  I  have  become  sane.  I  can  see  now — 
thanks  to  the  hours  of  meditation  and  recoil ec- 
on  my  sick  couch — that  she  is  false,  acted  a 
part  with  me,  lured  me  on  to  gratify  a  poor 
sentiment  of  vanity;  and  when  she  had  en 
trapped  me,  and  driven  me  to  an  avowal,  threw 
me  away  without  a  thought  or  care  for  me. 

"Fool  that  I  was  to  imagine  that  the  poor 
stranger  could  compete  with  the  rich  baronet  in 
madam's  eyes.  Fool,  above  all,  to  give  my  love 
to  a  thing  of  deception,  false  as  the  sea.  As 
the  sea?  I  do  it  wrong.  It  is  changeable 
and  dangerous,  but  makes  no  protestations. 
You  embark  on  it  with  a  knowledge  of  its 
perils.  This  woman's  glance  and  smile  said, 
'  There  is  no  danger  with  me.'  They  fooled  me. 
I  was  her  slave.  I  am  free  now ;  and  I  am  not 
jealous.  Were  she  to  hold  -nt  her  hand  now,  I 
would  not  take  it,  for  I  know  her.  Fool !  to  pass 
by  that  pure  flower,  Arthur  Maverick's  sister, 
and  bestow  my  love  upon  this  quicksand,  Arthur 
Maverick's  cousin.  But  it  is  over — all  that 
madness.  I  care  not  if  she  marry  the  assassin 


EARLESS  DESIGN.  15t 

and  monster.  It  is  to  save  Arthur  Maverick, 
my  friend,  that  I  go  to  warn  him,  and  to  speak 
in  my  own  name  and  character.  There  is  the 
house,  here  is  the  wall :  in  ten  minutes  I  shall 
be  there." 

As  he  spoke,  rapid  steps  were  heard  on  the 
path  behind  him,  and  he  turned  round. 

Through  the  dim  light  a  man  was  seen  run- 
uing  towards  him,  and  he  drew  his  pistol. 

"  Don't  shoot,  brother.  I  am  a  friend  !  " 
eaid  the  pursuer. 

And  the  gypsy  reached  him. 

"  Take  care,  brother ! "  he  said ;  "  Sir  Mar 
Westbrooke  is  on  your  track  I " 


CHAPTER  VX 

; 

THE   WITNESS. 

f  ARLE  gazed  at  the  gypsy  without  exhibit' 
ing  the  least  emotion  at  these  words. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  he  said. 
"  But  first  tell  me  where  you  have  been  ? ' 
"  I  have  been  yonder  in  the  woods,  in  the 
great  ravine  beyond  Maverick  House.  On  the 
night  of  the  attack  on  Westbrooke  Hall,  I  went 
with  you  as  far  as  the  ledge  on  the  sea  shore 
There  my  heart  failed  me.  I  heard  the  shouts 
of  the  revenue  guard.  I  was  a  coward,  and 
glided  into  the  darkness." 

"  You  did  well.  I  have  been  wounded  ;  but 
that  is  no  matter.  You  say  I  am  pursued  ? " 

u  Yes,  brother.  I  was  at  the  revenue  station 
to-day,  offering  to  tell  fortunes  As  I  was  tell 
ing  that  of  the  young  officer  in  command,  the 

(W8) 


THE   WITNESS.  159 

man  Wilde  rode  up  hastily.  He  brought  a 
note.  The  officer  read  it  half  aloud,  and  I 
heard  it.  It  was  from  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brookej  and  asked  for  a  party  of  men  to  arrest 
you.  You  were  lurking  at  a  place  on  the  ciast 
near  the  village  of  Oldport." 

"Ah  1  he  has  found  out  that  ?  And  the  men 
were  sent  ? " 

"  Yes,  brother.  They  were  ordered  out  im 
mediately.  Then  I  left  in  a  hurry,  and  began 
to  run  toward  Oldport.  As  I  went,  I  thought 
of  the  hut  on  the  headland,  where  the  solitary 
woman  lives.  You  might  be  there,  and  I  went 
up  the  steep  cliff  by  a  path  I  found.  You  were 
gone ;  the  woman  said,  had  followed  the  path 
toward  Maverick  House.  I  ran  after  you,  and 
here  I  am.  The  baronet  is  probably  on  youi 
track  too." 

Earle  nodded  coolly. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said. 

He  looked  keenly  at  the  gypsy,  as  though  to 
read  him  through.  The  look  seemed  to  be  un 
derstood  by  the  vagabond.  His  face  flushed, 
and  he  said, — 

"  You  don't  doubt  me,  brother? " 

"  No,"  said  Earle,  extending  his  hand ;  "  birt 
this  deep  interest  you  show  in  a  stranger  —  " 


160  THE   WITNESS. 

u  You  are  no  stranger,  brother.  You  are  on« 
of  the  Kommanye  Rye.  But  there  is  more  to 
make  me  your  friend.  You  have  been  kind  to 
me.  You  have  not  despised  me.  All  the  world 
despises  the  gypsies.  They  are  vagabonds  and 
thieves!  At  their  appearance,  the  housewife 
takes  in  her  linen  from  the  hedge.  When  they 
camp  in  the  woods  near  a  homestead,  the  farmer 
looks  to  his  sheep  and  pigs.  They  are  outcasts ; 
all  curse  them !  I  am  one  of  them,  and  yor 
have  been  kind,  not  cruel.  You  are  a  gentle 
man,  and  have  touched  my  hand  and  called  the 
poor  gypsy  '  brother.'  That  has  moved  him ; 
he  is  your  friend.  I  swear  to  watch  over  and 
obey  you,  brother  I " 

Earle  saw  that  the  speaker  was  in  earnest,  and 
suddenly  the  thought  came,  "  Here  is  the  wit 
ness  to  the  murder." 

"  You  will  do  what  I  ask  of  you,  then, 
brother  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  swear  it ;  order  me.     I  am  yours  1 " 

"  Then  follow  me.  I  am  going  to  reveal 
the  murderer  of  Giles  Maverick  to  his  son 
Arthur.  Remain  concealed  in  the  shadow 
of  the  trees  near  the  house.  When  I  call  you, 
come  quickly.  See,  we  are  near  now.  Here  Js 
the  wad  1 " 


THE   WITNESS.  161 

They  leaped  into  the  park,  and  rap  idly  ap- 
\  reached  the  h  )use. 

"Remain  here!"  said  Earle,  pointing  to  a 
spot  in  the  shrubbery ;  "  and  when  you  hear  me 
blow  on  my  sailor's  whistle,  come  quickly,  and 
give  your  testimony." 

The  gypsy  made  a  sign  of  obedience. 

"  I  will  lose  no  time,  brother ;  and  I  advise 
you  to  hasten.  The  baronet  will  not  find  you 
on  the  coast,  and  will  come  straight  here.  T 
warn  you." 

"  Let  him  come  1 " 

And  Earle  rapidly  made  his  way  toward  the 
mansion. 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  and 
Rose  and  Ellinor  passed  in  the  moonlight.  He 
clearly  distinguished  what  was  said;  heard  the 
taunts  of  Ellinor,  the  charge  of  loving  him, 
which  she  brought  against  her  cousin ;  and 
heard,  too,  the  defer  ce  made  of  him  by  Rose. 

A.  moment  afterwird  he  stood  before  them, 

11 


CHAPTER  VTL 

THE   DENUNCIATION. 

'ARLE  wrapped  his  cloak  around  him  BO 
as  to  conceal  his  uniform,  and  bowing 
low  to  Rose,  said,  in  his  deep  voice,  — 

"  Once  more    I  thank  you,  madam. 
You  defend  me.    The  attack  is  strange  1 " 
He  turned  to  Ellinor. 

"  I  loved  you  once,  or  thought  I  did,"  he 
Baid,  coolly.  "I  love  you  no  longer — have 
ceased  for  more  than  a  month  to  care  aught  for 
you.  I  shall  see  you  no  more  —  before  I  go  I 
undeceive  you  on  that  point,  if  you  have 
deceived  yourself." 

Ellinor  Maverick  blushed  crimson  nt  the  stern 
and  almost  contemptuous  words  oj  the  sailor. 
Her  pride  was   cruelly  mortified  t  and    angef 
followed  —  her  eyes  darted  lightnings. 
(162) 


THE  DENUNCIATION.  163 

Before  she  could  speak,  however,  Earle  had 
turned  lia  back  upon  her.  lie  went  to  meet 
Arthur  Maverick,  who,  startled  by  the  exclama 
tions  of  the  ladies  at  Earle's  appearance, 
had  1m  <ied  out  td  ascertain  the  cause  of 
their  agitation. 

"In  good  time!"  said  Earle;  "it  is  yon 
whom  I  come  to  see." 

"  Mr.  Delamere  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you  are 
alive,  and  not  a  prisoner  either  ?  "We  thought 
you  had  been  captured." 

"  I  will  explain  all,  some  day,"  was  Earle'a 
reply ;  "  now  there  is  no  time.  I  came  not  to 
explain  this  disapearance,  but  a  much  more 
mysterious  affair.  My  explanation  must  be 
brief,  the  meaning  of  which  statement  you 
willl  soon  discover,  friend." 

"  Your  words  astound  me ! " 

"I  am  about  to  astound  you  far  more.  The 
object  of  my  hurried  visit  to-night  is  to  reveal 
to  you  what  I  should  have  revealed  long  since." 

"To  reveal— what?" 

"  The  murderer  of  your  father  1 " 

Arthur  Maverick  started,  and  almost  recoiled. 

"You  know  the  mystery  of  that  terrible 
affair?" 

"Yesl" 


164  THE  DENUNCIATION. 

"Good  heavens,  Mr.  Delamerei  Speak  1 
What  frightful  intelligence  have  you  to  com 
municate?" 

"Intelligence  truly  frightful!  for  it  reveals  a 
depravity  almost  incredible.  Tell  me,  friend,  — 
you  are  that  to  me,  —  what  think  you  of  love  and 
murder  mingled  ?  What  would  you  say  if  I  told 
you  that  your  father's  murderer  aspires  to  an  al 
liance  with  one  of  your  own  family !  What  if 
the  man  whose  hands  reek  with  the  blood  of  the 
uncle,  comes  to  ask  the  hand  of  the  niece,  hopes 
to  make  Miss  Ellinor  Maverick  his  wife?" 

Arthur  gazed  at  the  speaker  with  distended 
eyes. 

Ellinor  Maverick,  as  pale  as  death,  now> 
seemed  about  to  faint. 

"You  would  say — you  surely  do  not 
mean — ?"  Arthur  said  in  a  low  and  agitated 
voice. 

"  I  mean  that  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  of 
Westbrooke  Hall,  is  the  murderer  of  Giles  Mav 
erick,  your  father  1 " 

For  a  moment  a  deep  silence  reigned  through 
out  the  entire  group.  The  words  seemed  to 
paralyze  the  listeners,  and  to  deprive  them  of 
the  power  of  utterance. 

The  first  person  who  spoke  was  Ellino*  M&v- 


THE  DENUNCIATION.  164 


erick.     She  sprang  forward  with  the  ft.  ry  of  a 
tigress. 

"Who  are  you,  sir?"  she  cried,  white  with 
rage,  "who  bring  this  accusation  ?  who  are  you 
—  the  unknown  adventurer  who  dare  to  assault 
the  character  of  a  gentleman  of  rank  ?  Speak  ! 
/will  defend  SirMurdaugh,  if  my  cousin  is  too 
cowardly  to  do  so!" 

Earle  bowed  with  ironical  ceremony. 

"  I  compliment  you,  madam,  upon  your  chiv- 
alric  defence  of  the  absent.  It  seems,  then,  that 
you  can  defend  as  well  as  attack  those  who  are 
not  present  to  take  their  own  parts  !  " 

"Answer!  no  evasion!  No  trick  to  avoid  a 
reply  to  my  question!"  exclaimed  the  yovng 
lady,  stung  to  wild  fury. 

"Your  question,  madam?" 

"  Who  are  you,  I  demand,  who  sneak  here  tc 
destroy  a  gentleman!  s  character  ?  " 

Earle  threw  back  his  cloak,  and  revealed  his 
full  uniform  of  a  French  captain. 

"I  am  Edmond  Earle,  of  the  French  navy; 
an  enemy,  but  an  officer  and  a  gentleman  1  I 
came  to  avow  that;  you  hasten  the  avowal. 
Yes,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  astonished  Arthur, 
"I  am  not  Mr.  Delamere,  but  Captain  Earle.  I 


166  tHE  DENUNCIATION. 

have  assumed  a  part — it  was  repugnant  but 
;t  was  done  in  compliance  with  order?.  French 
civilians  were  seized  pn  the  French  ccatt  —  1 
came  to  seize  English  civilians  on  the  English 
coast  1  It  was  I  who  attacked  Westbrooke  Hall 
and,  carried  off  the  Viscount  Cecil, — it  was  I  who 
was  pursued  and  wounded  on  the  sea-shore.  I 
have  remained  here  since  that  time ;  my  ship 
bas  returned  for  me,  and  the  boat  is  now  wait 
ing;  but  I  have  come  here,  risking  my  life, 
you  see,  with  a  mounted  party  on  my  track, 
to  say,  '  Thanks  for  your  hospitality  friends ! 
I  never  betrayed  that.  Before  I  go,  I  per 
form  a  duty ;  act  as  your  best  friend  would 
act  —  reveal  the  fact  that  a  murderer,  the 
murderer  of  your  own  father,  is  about  to  enter 
your  family  as  the  husband  of  a  member  of  that 
family.' " 

Arthur  Maverick  looked  and  listened  with 
stupefaction.  Words  seemed  to  fail  him. 

"  The  avowal  of  my  real  character  is  danger 
ous,  perhaps,"  said  Earle ;  "  but  I  swore  I  would 
make  it.  I  am  a  French  officer,  and  politically 
your  enemy ;  but  personally,  my  heart  beate 
with  earnest  affection  for  you.  Do  not  remem 
ber  that  I  am  an  enemy  —  think  me  youi 


T&E  DENUNCIATION  167 

friend.  There  is  little  time  left.  Let  me 
hasten  and  prove  my  charges." 

He  made  the  signal  agreed  upon,  and  the 
gypsy  appeared  quickly. 

"  This  man  is  a  vagabond,  and  you  may  not 
credit  him,"  said  Earle ;  "  but  listen  to  his  story 
first,  and  form  your  opinion." 

At  a  sign  from  Earle  the  gypsy  rapidly 
narrated  the  scene  at  the  pool  in  the  forest, 
more  than  five  years  before.  As  he  painted  in 
vivid  colors  the  sombre  event  which  he  had 
witnessed, — the  meeting  of  the  enemies,  the 
apparently  friendly  greeting,  the  sudden  stab, 
the  dog  leaping  at  the  murderer's  throat,  and 
the  murdered  man  beaten  with  fragments 
of  rock,  and  his  body  dragged  to  and  sunken  in 
the  pool, —  as  this  terrible  scene  was  depicted  in 
the  forcible  words  of  the  gypsy,  Arthur  Mave 
rick  shuddered,  and  his  face  assumed  the  ashy 
hue  of  a  corpse. 

"You  do  not  believe  that,  perhaps,"  said  Earle, 
as  the  gypsy  terminated  his  narrative.  "You 
may  say  that  I  am  the  rejected  suitor  of  Miss 
Maverick,  and  have  suborned  this  man  to  perjure 
himself ,  in  order  to  ruin  my  riv\l.  So  be  it! 
form  that  theory,  and  try  this  narrative  by  the 


168  THE  DENUNC-  4T/OM 

strongest  test.  Believe  nothing  until  it  is  ao 
counted  for  upon  reasonable  grounds ;  and  first, 
was  there  no  reason  why  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  should  hate  your  father  ? " 

"I  know  of  none,"  said  Arthur  Maverick  in 
a  stifled  voice. 

"/am  better  informed  1  n 

"You?" 

"  Your  father  bound  and  lashed  the  baronet 
as  men  lash  a  dog !  Were  you  too  young  to 
know  that  fact  ?  Interrogate  your  memory." 

"  Good  heavens  1  And  it  was  my  father,  then, 
who  committed  that  terrible  outrage,  with  which 
the  whole  country  rang !  Is  it  possible  ?  and 
yet,  it  is  incredible,  but  —  " 

"  Had  they  not  quarreled  ? '' 

"  Yes,  yes  !  I  now  recall  old  stories  of  a  vio 
lent  scene  between  them.  They  were  on  a  race 
course  ;  had  an  altercation ;  my  father  gave  Sir 
Murdaugh  the  lie,  and  the  baronet  struck  him 
with  his  riding-whip.  Before  he  could  repeat 
the  blow,  the  bystanders  interposed  and  forced 
Sir  Murdaugh  from  the  ground  ! " 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Earle,  coolly ;  "  and  the 
thain  of  motive  is  perfect.  Your  father  quar 
rels  with  the  baronet,  the  baronet  inflicte  a  terri- 


160 


ble  indignity  upon  Mr.  Maverick ;  the  *esult  It 
that  your  father  returns  the  insult  in  kind  bj 
binding  and  lashing  his  adversary;  and  the 
fifth  act  of  the  drama  is  the  murder  of  yom 
father  by  that  adversary." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE    BLOOD-HOUND. 

RTHUR    Maverick's   eyes    were   fixed 
upon   the    ground.    His  expression  of 
horror  and  astonishment  began  to  give 
place  to  a  gloomy  rage. 
"  Then,  if  this  be  true,  I  have  welcomed  and 
touched  the  hand  of  my  father's  murderer  \" 
he  muttered. 

Before  Earle  could  reply,  Ellinor  Maverick 
bounded  toward  them. 

White  with  fury,  chiefly  from  the  undisguised 
contempt  of  her  former  lover,  she  caught 
Arthur  by  the  arm,  almost  shook  him  in  her 
rage,  and  half  hissed  through  her  closed  set 
teeth,  — 

"  Do  you  believe  that  spy  and  liar  ? " 
(170) 


THE  BLOOD-HOUND.  171 

Arthur  Maverick  drew  back  and  extricated 
his  arm  from  her  grasp. 

"Permit  me  to  manage  my  own  affairs 
madam,  and  believe  or  disbelieve  as  seems  good 
to  me,"  he  said,  coldly. 

"  Believe  as  you  will,  then ! "  was  the  furious 
response ;  "  disgrace  your  name  if  you  will,  by 
giving  credit  to  this  convicted  spy  and  adven 
turer!  But  you  shall  not  poison  my  mind 
against  —  " 

"Your  uncle's  murderer,  madam?  As  you 
will  —  that  is  your  affair.  I  arrogate  no  au 
thority  over  you.  But  listen  to  me.  I  am  the 
head  of  the  house  of  Maverick  in  Pembrokshire ; 
my  father  was  murdered ;  a  man  is  charged  with 
the  irurder.  I  will  pursue  the  inquiry  to  the 
last  limits.  If  true,  the  guilty  shall  suffer.  If 
untrue,  the  innocent  will  be  vindicated.  Does 
that  suit  your  views,  madam  ?  If  not,  the  fact 
will  not  move  me." 

Ellinor  was  carried  away  by  her  rage. 

"  I  say  the  very  idea  is  an  insult ! " 

"  So  be  it,  madam.  People  will  be  insulted, 
then." 

"  It  is  an  outrage  —  a  thing  unheard  of,  that 
this  unknown  adventurer,  this  man  who  dared 
to  pay  his  addresses  to  me,  whom  I  spTirned 


172  THE 


and  laughed  at,  and  ordered  to  leave  my 
ence,  —  it  is  infamous  that  on  his  testimony  a 
gentleman  of  rank  and  character  should  be 
suspected  1  " 

"  She  fights  hard  for  her  rich  suitor  1  "  mut 
tered  Earle,  with  stern  irony. 

And  then  raising  his  voice,  — 

"May  I  call  your  attention  to  one  fact, 
madam  ?  "  he  said,  coldly  :  "  I  have  no  testimony 
to  give." 

"  You  have  paid  this  vulgar  wretch  to  blacken 
Sir  Murdaugh  1  " 

"  I  am  too  poor,  madam  !  " 

He  made  her  a  mock  inclination,  and  spoke 
with  an  accent  of  such  contempt  that  the  lady 
shuddered  with  rage,  and  with  difficulty  re 
frained  from  springing  at  him. 

"  To  end  this  scene,"  said  Earle,  returmng 
to  his  gloomy  tone,  full  of  sternness  and  cold 
resolution  :  "  I  expected  this  reception  —  I 
was  thus  prepared  for  it,  and  it  does  not 
move  me.  I  had  my  duty  to  perform,  and 
have  performed  it,  —  at  some  risk,  too,"  he  said 
to  Arthur  Maverick.  "Do  you  doubt  that! 
Listen  !  " 

He  raised  his  finger,  and  there  was  dead 
silence  for  a  monent 


THE  BLOOD  h  OUND.  173 

In  tho  midst  of  this  silence  rapid  hoof-strokef 
were  heard  on  the  road  leading  to  the  great 
gate. 

"  Do  you  hear  ? "  said  Earle,  coolly. 

"  Yes  ! "  was  Arthur  Maverick's  reply  —  "  the 
meaning  of  that  sound  ?  " 

"  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  is  coming  hither 
Urith  a  party  to  seize  and  murder  me." 

"The  baronet?" 

"  In  person !  Can  you  not  fancy  the 
worthy's  motive?  On  the  night  when  this 
black  mystery  was  revealed  to  me,  he  had  me 
tracked — his  secret  emissary  overhead  all.  Sir 
Maudaugh  knows  that  I  know — his  good  name 
is  threatened.  I  may  send  him  to  the  gallows 
—  he  has  doomed  me  —  and  is  coming  to  mur 
der  me ! " 

The  hoof -strokes  sounded  nearer,  and  a  shud 
der  ran  through  Rose  Maverick,  who  was  stand 
ing  pale  but  erect  beside  her  brother. 

"  My  sentence  is  already  pronounced  ;  I  am 
to  die,"  said  Earle,  coolly ;  "  and  I  lose  my  life 
by  coming  hither  to  warn  you  of  this  mac's 
character!  Does  that  prove,  or  does  it  not, 
that  /  believe  this  gypsy's  statement?  He 
alone  can  speak  of  that  scene  —  " 

Earle  suddenly  stopped. 


174  THE  BLOOD-HOUXD. 

The  hoof -strokes  clashed  on  the  avenue.  The 
pursuers  were  nearly  upon  them. 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  said  Earle :  "  there  is  another  wit 
ness  —  and  he  is  here !  the  blood-hound  !  —  you 
informed  me  that  he  was  still  alive,  old  and 
blind  nearly.  Send  for  the  dog  !  —  he  will 
know  the  murderer ! " 

"  I  will  go  for  him  in  person !  wait  1 " 

And  Arthur  Maverick  disappeared  at  a 
bound  toward  the  rear  of  the  mansion,  where 
the  bloodhound  —  dangerous  in  spite  oi:  hia 
great  age  —  was  kept  chained. 

As  his  figure  disappeared,  Sir  Murdaugh 
Westbrooke  rushed  toward  the  group.  Behind 
came  his  men,  ready  to  obey  his  orders. 

"  There  he  is  ! "  shouted  the  baronet,  "  armed 
and  ready  to  resist ! " 

Earle's  pistol  was  indeed  in  his  hand,  and 
unconsciously  he  raised  it. 

"  He  is  ready  to  fire !  Shoot  him  down  1 " 
cried  the  baronet  furiously. 

And  he  raised  his  own  pistol,  but  suddenly 
let  it  fall. 

Rose  Maverick  had  rushed  between  Earle  and 
the  threatening  muzzle. 

u  You  dare  not  fire  upon  me!  *'  she  exclaimed 
disdainfully ;  "  if  you  dare  —  fire ! n 


THE  BLOOD-HOUND.  175 

And  beautiful,  superb,  her  cheek*  burning 
with  passionate  feeling,  — 

"  I  know  now  that  you  murdered  my  father  1  * 
she  exclaimed. 

Tne  words  were  nearly  drowned  in  a  hoarse 
and  threatening  roar;  and  an  instant  after 
wards  an  enormous  blood-hound  bounded  down 
the  steps. 

At  sight  of  the  dog,  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  uttered  a  hoarse  cry  and  turned  to  fly. 

It  was  too  late.  The  dog  had  recognized 
the  murderer  of  his  master.  His  bloodshot 
eyes  glared  at  the  baronet  for  an  instant ;  his 
huge  mouth  opened  wide,  displaying  the  jagged 
teeth  —  then  with  one  bound  the  blood-hound 
reached  the  spot  and  sprung  at  his  enemy's 
throat. 

A  second  cry,  hoarse  and  horror-stricken  like 
the  first,  came  from  the  baronet.  But  this  time 
it  was  suddenly  interrupted.  The  hound's  teeth 
were  on  his  throat.  A  supernatural  strength 
seemed  to  animate  the  faithful  animal  —  the 
baronet  struggled  in  vain  —  suddenly  man  and 
dog  fell  beneath  the  trampling  hoofs  of  the 
horses,  and  Earle's  voice  was  heard  exclaim 
ing,— 

"  Behold  the  murderer  of  Giles  Maverick! " 


176  THE  BLOOD-HOJND. 

As  he  uttered  the  words  the  far  bcom  of  can 
non  came  from  the  channel. 

Earle  started. 

It  came  a  second  time.  The  ommouB  sound 
was  unmistakable. 

"  The  corvette !  —  she  is  attacked  1 "  cried 
Earle. 

And  seizing  the  bridle  of  the  baronet's  horse, 
he  leaped  into  the  saddle. 

"  Farewell,  friends ! "  he  cried  to  Arthur  and 
Rose :  "  there  are  my  cannon  !  —  I  know  their 
ring !  My  corvette  is  fighting  amf  I  am  absent ! 
Farewell ! " 

And  charging,  pistol  in  hand,  the  confuse^ 
revenue  guard,  he  passed  through  them,  fol 
lowed  only  by  a  few  random  shcte,  and  the* 
disappeared  toward  the  coast. 


GRAFTER  IX. 


WHAT  FOLLOWED. 

ARLE  went  on  at  full  speed. 

The  boat,  he  knew,  awaited  him  at  the 
cove  under  the  headland:  to  reach  the 
spot  now  without   delay  was  the   one 
thought  that  possessed  him. 

The  animal  he  bestrode  was  a  powerful 
hunter,  of  the  purest  blood  and  the  highest 
speed.  At  every  bound  he  cleared  ten  feet. 
Earlc  drove  him  on  mercilessly.  "With  erect 
head,  floating  mane,  and  foam  flying  from  hia 
jaws,  he  darted  straight  on  toward  the  coast, 
along  whose  headlands  and  rocky  promontories 
reverberated  the  hoarse  boom  of  the  cannon. 

Suddenly  another  sound  mingled  with  the  far 
ominous  roar,  —  the  smiting  of  hoofs  on  th« 
road  behind. 

tt  C177) 


178  WHAT  FOLLOWED. 

Earle  turned  his  head  and  listened. 

1  They  are  following  me,"  he  muttered,  Jig 
ging  the  spur  into  his  horse's  sides. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  was  on  his  track. 

A  brief  but  fiery  scene  had  followed  the  fall 
of  the  baronet,  in  the  clutch  of  the  blood-hound. 
Ilis  men  ran  to  him,  dragged  off  the  dog,  and 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  trembling,  bleeding,  and  as 
pale  as  a  corpse. 

"  The  meaning  —  of  —  this  —  oatrage  ? "  he 
gasped. 

"  Ask  your  memory,"  was  Arthur  Maverick's 
response,  in  a  low,  hoarse  tone. 

He  advanced  close  to  the  baronet  as  he  spoke, 
and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him. 

"  You  are  the  murderer  of  my  father !  "  came 
in  a  low  hiss  through  his  pale  lips. 

The  baronet  recoiled,  and  his  eyes  seemed 
starting  from  their  cavernous  sockets. 

"  That  hound  convicts  you  !  See  1  I  have 
only  to  step  aside  and  he  will  tear  you  to  the 
earth  a  second  tune !  Wretch !  murderer !  con 
victed  assassin !  your  black  crime  shall  not  go 
unpunished  longer  1 " 

And  catching  the  baronet  by  the  throat,  he 
«nuld  have  strangled  him  despite  his  great 


WHA T  fOL  LOWED.  179 

strength,  had  not  the  men  forcibly  interposed, 
and  parted  them  instantly. 

u  It  —  is  —  well ! "  gasped  the  baronet,  stag 
gering  back ;  "you  shall  answer  for  this  outrage. 
I  go  now,  but  I  return.  My  horse ! " 

And  turning,  he  caught  almost  mechanically, 
the  bridle  of  a  horse  which  one  of  the  men 
hastened  to  lead  forward. 

The  baronet  mounted  hastily,  and  made  a 
eign  to  his  men  to  do  likewise. 

Arthur  Maverick  seemed  to  hesitate  whether 
he  would  attempt  to  retain  him  or  not. 

"  Well,  go ! "  he  said ;  "  but  beware  how  you 
set  your  foot  here  again.  Return,  as  you  say 
you  will,  and  you  die  by  my  hand." 

The  1  »ar<  >net  looked  at  the  speaker  with  eyes 

w 

full  of  indescribable  rage,  with  which  was 
mingled  no  little  trepidation. 

"  It  is  well ! "  he  said,  in  a  low  tone ;  "  but  let 
the  son  beware  of  the  fate  of  the  father." 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  his  horse's  head,  and 
struck  the  spur  into  the  animal's  sides. 

"  Come ! "  he  shouted  in  hoarse  tones  to  the 
mer  ;  "we  may  catch  up  with  the  spy  yet.  A 
hundred  guineas  for  his  head ! " 

And  he  set  out  at  full  speed  on  the  track  of 


180 


WHAT  FOLLOWED. 


Earle.  The  men  followed,  and  the  party  disap 
peared  like  a  whilwind. 

The  dismounted  man,  whose  horse  the  ban 
onet  rode,  ran  after  them. 

The  gypsy  had  already  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  FLAG    WITH  THE  LILIES. 

'AKLE     continued     his    flight,  making 
straight  for  the  coast. 

The  hunter  cleared  the  earth  with  long 
strides,  and   promised  very  soon  to  dis 
tance  all  pursuit  and  reach  the  strand. 

Suddenly  he  staggered.  A  sharp  stone  had 
entered  his  foot,  and  inflicted  a  deep  wound. 
Such  was  the  pain  that  he  was  unable  to  keep 
up  his  great  speed  ;  his  pace  fell  off ;  he  limped 
terribly ;  and  Earle  heard  behind  him  the 
shouts  of  the  pursuers,  who  every  moment  were 
gaining  upon  him. 

He  turned  and  looked  o\er  his  shoulder; 
then  through  the  night  mist  toward  the  coast 
From  the  rear  came  threatening  cries ;  from  the 


THE  FLAG   WITH  THE  LILIES. 


front,  the  long  reverberating  boom  of  camion 
from  the  channel. 

Behind  that  curtain  of  white  mist  wrapping 
the  shores  and  the  great  headlands,  Earle  felt 
that  a  hard  combat  was  going  on  between  his 
corvette  and  an  English  frigate  probably. 

The  thought  drove  him  to  frenzy  almost 
He  struck  the  poor  animal  he  rode,  with  his 
clenched  fist. 

"Faster!  faster!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  care 
not  for  myself.  But  she  is  attacked  yonder — 
my  corvette !  They  are  fighting,  and  I  am  not 
there!" 

"With  merciless  spur,  he  drove  the  animal  to 
full  speed,  in  spite  of  his  wound  ;  and  thus  pur 
suers  and  pursued  swept  onward  toward  the  sea. 

It  was  now  a  race  for  life.  The  party  com 
manded  by  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  were 
every  moment  gaining  on  the  sailor.  Either 
they  caught  glimpses  of  him,  or  heard  the  sound 
of  his  horse's  hoofs.  They  came  closer  and 
closer,  and  Earle  heard  them,  and  prepared  for 
the  worst. 

As  his  horse  went  on  at  full  speed  nearly,  in 
spite  of  the  painful  limp,  the  sailor  slipped  hia 
belt  round,  and  placed  the  handle  -'»f  his  pistol 
where  he  could  easily  grasp  it 


THE  FLAG  WlTti  THE  LILIES.        183 

"  If  they  come  up,  I  will  fight  them  all,"  he 
muttered,  with  his  short,  defiant  laugh.  "  That 
is  not  brave ;  it  is  the  only  course !  If  I  am 
arrested,  I  will  die  on  the  gallows.  Yes,  my 
good  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  you  pLty  with 
edged  tools.  You  may  come  up  with  me,  but 
you  come  to  your  death  1 " 

A  pistol-shot  was  heard,  and  a  bullet  whistled 
by  his  head.  He  drew  his  own  weapon,  but 
did  not  fire. 

"  I  am  too  good  a  sailor  to  waste  my  shot,"  he 
muttered. 

At  d  he  went  on,  pursued  by  cries ;  they  evi 
dently  saw  him,  and  were  gaining  rapidly  on 
him. 

The  mist  opening  for  a  moment,  gave  him  all 
at  once  a  full  glimpse  of  the  party.  At  their 
head  rode  Sir  Murdaugh,  and  Earle  heard  him 
howl,  — 

"  Shoot  him  down !     Death  to  him  I " 

Then  the  mist  enveloped  them. 

But  from  this  mist  came,  nearer  and  nearer, 
the  hoof-strokes  and  the  cries.  Earle's  horse 
rtaggered  under  him,  and  seemed  about  to  fall. 

From  the  front,  as  before,  came  the  thunder 
of  cannon,  and  with  this  now  nrjngled  the  hoarse 
dash  of  tho  waves. 


184          TJfE  tLAG    WlTtt  THE 


u  The  coast  is  near.  I  caniot  sec,  but  there 
is  the  sound  a  sailor  knows,"  muttered  Earle. 

The  roll  of  the  surf  grew  louder.  With  it 
came  now  the  confused  sound  of  voices. 

Earle's  brows  were  heavily  knit. 

*I  had  forgotten  that!"  he  exclaimed 
"  While  I  am  followed  by  this  party,  bent  on 
my  death,  another  party  awaits  me  yonder.  Be 
tween  the  two  I  shall  be  crushed  !  " 

The  wind  whirled  away  the  mist,  and  on  tho 
strand  were  seen  confused  shapes,  —  men  run 
ning  to  and  fro. 

"I  have  mistaken  my  route,  and  am  near 
Oldport,"  muttered  Earle. 

Then  gazing  before  him,  — 

"  If  these  people  see  me,  I  am  lost  1"  to  ex 
claimed. 

As  he  spoke,  the  party  behind  rushed  upon 
him,  with  fierce  shouts.  From  the  mist  en  terged 
a  whirlwind  of  furious  enemies,  pistol  in  hand 

"  Halt  !  or  you  are  dead  !  " 

Earle  replied  by  firing  at  the  baronet. 

The  bullet  passed  through  his  hkt.  Oiily  a 
moment  afterwards  a  hail-storm  of  balls  rliis- 
tied  around  the  sailor. 

His  horse  had  struck  his  wounded  foot,  and 
half  falling,  saved  the  life  of  his  rider. 


FLAG  WIT&  tu£  LILI&S.       1S5 


Tho  bullets  passed  over  Earle's  head,  And  the 
baronet  uttered  a  cry  of  rage. 

"  Ride  him  down  I  See,  his  horse  will  carry 
him  no  farther  1  " 

Earle  drove  the  spur  deep  into  his  animal's 
side.  The  only  result  was  that  the  horse  uttered 
a  groan,  and  nearly  fell. 

At  the  same  moment  violent  hands  caught 
the  bridle,  and  threw  him  on  his  haunches. 

"Who  be  you  ?  "  cried  a  voice  —  the  voice  of 
the  man  in  front. 

Earle  recognized  that  voice.  It  belonged  to 
Goliath. 

He  threw  himself  from  the  saddle. 

"  I  am  one  of  the  wolves  1  "  he  said  ;  "  and 
they  are  after  me  !  " 

"  You  1"  exclaimed  the  giant,  recognizing 
him. 

"  Yes  :  listen  !  Yonder  are  the  men  who  are 
hunting  me  down  !  " 

The  baronet  rushed  on  with  his  men,  wh< 
uttered  shouts  of  triumph. 

"  Who  be  these  ?  "  said  Goliath. 

"  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  and  the  revenue 
guard  !" 

No  sooner  had  Goliath  heard  Earle's  reply 
than  he  drew  a  long  knif  <\  His  next  proceed 


186          fti£  FLAG    \VtTtt  TKE  UL1ES. 


ing  was  to  utter  a  shrill  and  prolonged  cry,  te- 
eembling  the  scream  of  the  sea-gull. 

At  that  cry,  dusky  shapes  rushed  toward  him 
from  every  direction.  The  wolves  had  evident 
ly  recognized  the  signal,  which  meant,  "  One  ol 
the  wolves  is  in  danger  1  " 

"  You  be  safe,  master,"  said  Goliath. 

Earle  drew  his  second  pistol. 

%<  Go  on,  master  ;  where  you  be  going?  n 

"  I  am  not  going  anywhere  1  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  pursuers  darted  upon  them. 

"  Kill  him  !  "  exclaimed  the  baronet,  "  and  all 
who  resist  1  " 

As  he  spoke  he  fired  at  Earle,  and,  riding  at 
liim,  levelled  a  blow  at  him  with  his  pistol, 
which  was  still  smoking. 

The  sailor  parried  it,  and  fired  on  the  baronet, 
so  close  that  the  powder  blackened  his  face.  As 
the  weapon  was  discharged,  the  horse  ridden  by 
the  baronet  took  fright  and  wheeled.  He  was 
not  destined  to  bear  off  his  rider,  however,  who 
had  remained  uninjured.  One  of  the  wolves 
caught  the  baronet  by  the  throat  and  dragged 
him  down.  Then  the  fight  surged  over  him. 
Quick  pistol-shots,  cries,  the  revenue  guards 
scattering  and  flying,  hotly  pursued,  —  such 
were  the  Bounds  and  sights  which  greeted  Su 


THE  FLAG  WITH  TtfE  LILIES. 

Murdaugh  as  he  rolled  to  the  earth,  and  a  pow 
erful  wolf  placed  his  knee  on  tirn. 

"  Quick,  master,"  said  Goliath  to  Earle ;  "  the 
fight  be  over  1  take  care  of  yourself  I  " 

"  Thanks." 

And  Earle  caught  a  horse  and  threw  himself 
into  the  saddle. 

"  Good-by,  brother ! "  he  said,  grasping  the 
huge  hand  of  Goliath;  "you  have  saved  my 
life  to-night,  and  I  shall  not  forget  that" 

Goliath  shook  his  head. 

"  No  need  of  thanking  me,  master.  You  be 
a  wolf,  but  look  out ! " 

Earle  turned  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
the  giant's  finger. 

The  sound  of  cavalry  coming  on  at  full  gal 
lop  was  heard. 

"  The  revenue  station  people ! n 

"  They  are  too  late  I  " 

And  with  a  last  pressure  of  the  hand,  Earle 
darted  off  along  the  shore  toward  the  spot 
where  the  boat  awaited  him. 

In  ten  minutes  he  stopped,  and  threw  him 
self  tc  the  earth. 

Then  he  began  to  run  along  the  narrow  ledge 
of  rock,  and  disappeared  in  the  shadow  of  the 
headland. 


188 


Ten  minutes  afterwards  the  revenue  guarj 
who  had  ridden  down  to  the  shore,  might  have 
been  heard  uttering  cries. 

A  boat  had  darted  from  the  shadow  of  the 
headland,  above  which  suddenly  soared  the 
beacon  light.  The  gigantic  torch  lit  up  all. 
The  ruddy  glare  turned  night  into  day.  The 
boat  was  rowed  by  four  men,  and  another  in 
uniform  stood  *erect  in  the  stern. 

A  shower  of  bullets  from  the  guard,  who 
rode  down  into  the  surf,  greeted  the  boat. 

The  reply  aroused  furious  shouts  and  more 
shots. 

It  was  simple. 

The  man  in  the  stern  unfurled  a  flag,  and 
waved  his  hat. 

The  glare  of  the  beacon  fell  on  the  flag. 

On  its  defiant  folds  were  emblazoned  the 
lilies  of  France ;  and,  as  though,  to  salute  it,  a 
salvo  of  cannon  roared  from  the  channel. 

Earle  vraved  his  hat  a  second  time  in  triumph, 
and  in  ten  minutes  the  boat  had  disappeared  in 
the  mifit 


PART    III. 

BURIED    ALIVE. 
CHAPTER  L 

BARON   DELAMEEE. 


„- 

NTIL  nearly  midnight  the  cannon  con 
tinned  to  roar  from  St.  George's  Chan 
nel ;  then  the  dull  sound  receded,  was 
heard  at  intervals  only ;  then  ceased. 
Three  days  afterwards  His  French  Majesty's 
c  )rvette  the  Solitaire,  entered  the  port  of  Brest, 
having  in  tow  His  Britannic  Majesty's  sloop-of- 
war  the  Hornet,  which  had  attacked  the  cor 
vette  in  St.  George's  Channel,  off  the  coast  of 
Pembrokeshire,  and  very  nearly  succeeded  in 
sinking  the  Frenciiman. 

080) 


190  BARON  DELAMERE. 

In  fact  the  fight  was  plainly  going  in  favor  oi 
the  Hornet,  and  the  corvette  was  trying  to  get 
off,  when  a  boat  rowed  by  four  sailors,  with  a 
fifth  person  standing  in  the  stern,  was  seen  mak 
ing  its  way  from  shore,  directly  under  the  fire 
of  the  Hornet'1  s  guns — and  this  boat  in  the 
midst  of  plunging  shot,  and  a  fire  of  musketry 
directed  at  it,  reached  the  corvette ;  the  person 
.  in  the  stern  leaping  instantly  upon  deck,  and, 
as  the  English  commander  could  see,  taking 
command. 

From  that  moment  the  fight  became  far 
more  obstinate;  and  it  was  soon  obvious  that 
whoever  the  commanding  officer  of  the  corvette 
might  be,  he  had  resolved  to  go  to  the  bottom 
rather  than  strike  his  flag.  Success  crowned 
his  hard  work  —  it  was  the  sloop-of -war  which 
struck  her  flag,  and  the  corvette  sailed  away 
with  her,  managing  to  evade  the  English  crui 
sers  and  reach  Brest  in  safety. 

Such  had  been  the  result  of  Earle's  night 
combat  in  St.  George's  Channel,  —  victory  over 
a  waspish  craft  manned  by  good  men,  and 
commanded  by  a  brave  old  sea-dog.  He  sailed 
into  Brest  with  colors  flying,  and  was  saluted 
by  the  fortress  with  the  roar  of  cannon. 

Ail  hour  afterwards  he  had  cast  anchor 


BARON  DELAMEXE.  191 

His  barge  was  manned,  and  he  sprung  into 
it.  The  oars  fell,  the  barge  danced  over  the 
waves,  Earle  touched  shore ;  and  was  soon 
bowing,  cocked  hat  in  hand,  in  presence  of 
the  great  Due  de  Choiseul,  prime  minister, 
who  chanced,  happily  for  the  sailor's  fortunes 
to  be  on  a  visit  to  Brest,  and  to  witness  his 
triumphal  entry. 

A  week  afterwards  Captain  Edmond  Earle 
was  travelling  post  from  Paris  to  the  village 
of  Martigny. 

The  object  of  his  visit  was  to  procure  a 
copy  of  his  baptismal  register,  and  the  formal 
record  of  the  marriage  of  his  father  and 
mother. 

These  documents  were  necessary  before  he 
could  be  created  Baron  Delamere. 

That  was  the  reward  designed  to  be  con 
ferred  on  the  young  sailor;  and  for  the  sug 
gestion  he  was  indebted  to  no  less  a  personage 
than  the  Yiscount  Cecil. 

A  few  words  will  place  the  reader  in  pos 
session  of  the  details.  Our  history  passes  in 
Wales,  and  only  touches  for  a  few  moments 
the  French  shore. 

The  capture  of  the  viscount  had  pleasei 
everybody,  and  the  court  was  thus  in  high 


1 92  BARON  DELAMERB.. 

good  humour.  He  was  released  at  onco  on 
parole;  feted  by  the  anti-war  party;  received 
with  great  politeness  by  his  grace  the  Due  de 
(Jhoiseul  whose  word  was  law  throughout 
France;  and  one  morning  when  he  was 
shown  into  the  minister's  cabinet  he  found 
Earle  in  waiting. 

"  Ah  1  you  have  returned  then,  my  dear 
Captain  ? "  he  said. 

"  As  you  see,  my  lord,"  said  Earle,  bowing 

"And,  I  have  heard,  with  a  prizo.  What 
ship  had  the  bad  luck  to  meet  you  ? " 

"  I  was  attaked  by  His  Britannic  Majesty's 
sloop-of-war  Hornet,  my  lord." 

"Commanded  by  Digbyl  You  had  a  hard 
fight?" 

"  A  very  hard  one,  my  lord.  Captain  Digby 
did  not  seem  to  know  when  he  ought  to  strike  1 
A  very  brave  man ! " 

The  Viscount  Cecil  bowed. 

"When  one  brave  sailor  speaks  well  of  an 
other,  we  civilians  should  listen." 

"Your  lordship  does  me  great  honor." 

"  Not  more  than  you  deserve,  sir.  Come  to 
England  —  I  will  have  you  made  a  peer  1 " 

The  Due  de  Choiseul  laughed. 

*  What  say  you,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  f n 


BARON  DELAMERE.  193 

The  sailor  bowed. 

"  I  have  a  flag,  my  lord.  It  is  the  flag  of 
the  lilies ! " 

The  viscount  approached  the  duke. 

"  See,  monser  gneur  1  you  have  a  nobleman 
already  made  there." 

"  But  you  think,  my  Lord  Yiscount  —  "  said 
Choiseul. 

"That  you  should  make  him  a  baron,  at 
least,  monseigneur." 

"  Baron  —  whom  ? " 

"Stay:  I  find  you  a  name,  monseigneur. 
Delamere  —  de-la-mer.  He  captured  me  while 
tearing  that  name ;  and  I  assure  your  lordship 
that  he  will  honor  your  patent." 

The  Due  de  Choiseul  inclined  politely. 

"Will  it  oblige  Monsieur  le  Vicopte?"   . 

"  Very  greatly,  my  lord.  It  is  a  great  privi 
lege  to  be  able  to  reward  merit  —  I  have  en 
joyed  it  at  times." 

The  duke  took  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  wrote 
some  lines  upon  it,  and  then  affixed  his  seal 
to  it. 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron  Delamere,"  he  said,  turn 
ing  to  Earle,  "  take  this  paper  to  the  Bureau 
of  Record,  which  you  will  easily  find,  and 
have  all  the  formalities  attended  to  by  the 

18 


BARON  DELAMERE. 

chief  of  the  Bureau.  You  will  thei  report  IB 
fifteen  days  to  the  admiral  at  Brest  for  ordera 
The  Temeravre  will  await  you  there,  and  you 
will  take  command  of  her!  " 

Earle  bowed  low.  The  Temeraire  was  a 
frigate  of  the  first  class  ;  and  he  was  dizzy  for 
joy.  He  did  not  think  of  the  paper  in  his 
hand.  But  when  ho  found  himself  in  the 
antechamber  he  glanced  at  it. 

"  Edmond  Earle  —  created  —  by  His  Majesty 
—  for  important  services  —  Baron  Delamere. 
Choi3eul." 

Earle  read  something  like  that.  The  whole 
affair  astonished  him.  And  he  owed  this  latter 
distinction  to  his  brave  enemy  the  viscount  I 

As  he  walked  on,  in  a  dream  as  it  were,  he 
felt  a  hand  laid  upon  his  arm. 

He  turned  quickly.  It  was  the  Yiscount 
CeciL 

"  Farewell,  baron ;  I  return  to  England  to 
morrow,"  said  the  viscount. 

"  You  are  released,  then,  my  lord  ? " 

"Yes." 

a  I  am  overjoyed  to  be  so  ii  formed.  It  wa§ 
by  my  act  that  yon  have  been  thus  incon 
venienced  —  and  your  revenge  has  been 
princely,  my  lord." 


BARON  DELAM1LRE.  195 

The  viscount  took  the  sailor's  arm,  and  they 
walked  on  together. 

"  Listen,  my  dear  Captain  Earle  —  for  that 
is  your  most  honorable  title,"  said  Viscount 
Cecil :  "  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and  have  seen 
a  great  deal  of  the  world.  I  never  prided  my- 
on  many  things,  but  I  think  I  recognize  a 
gentleman  whenever  I  meet  one.  Well,  you 
conducted  yourself  as  such  in  capturing  me, 
and  you  beat  Digby — those  two  facts  have 
much  impressed  me.  To  day  I  found  the 
occasion  —  his  grace  was  in  an  excellent  humor. 
He  has  made  you  a  baron — you  deserve  that, 
sir;  and  when  the  war  ends,  come  and  see 
me.  I  live  at  Wentworth  Castle  —  you  will 
always  be  welcome  there.  Farewell,  Captain ! 
There  is  the  Bureau  of  Record." 

And  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  Earle 
pressed  warmly. 

"Thanks,  my  lord,"  he  said.  "  The  king  en 
nobles  me  for  a  fight  and  a  victory.  But  there 
are  others  who  dc  not  require  that,  since  they 
are  noblemen  by  nature." 

And  they  parted,  —  Earle  entering  the 
Bureau. 

He  was  ushered  into  an  inner  apartment, 
where  a  dry-looking  individual  scowled  at 


196  BARON  DELAMERE. 

A.t  sight  of  the  paper  in  the  writing  of  C!K  i 
however,  this  individual  dissolved  into  profase 
politeness. 

"Will  Monsieur  le  Baron  be  seated?"  he 
said,  bowing  and  pointing  to  a  chair.  "This 
patent  is  in  regular  order.  I  congratulate  Mon 
sieur  le  Baron.  A  few  formalities  only  are  nec 
essary,  —  mere  formalities ;  namely,  the  full 
name  of  Monsieur  le  Baron's  father  and  mother, 
and  the  date  of  their  marriage ;  also,  the  date 
of  Monsieur  le  Baron's  birth :  that  will  be  all. 
Delighted  to  serve  Monsieur  le  Baron !  " 

And  the  functionary  executed  another  bow. 

Earle  responded  in  the  same  manner,  and 
left  the  Bureau,  with  "Monsieur  le  Baron" 
fairly  ringing  in  his  ears. 

On  the  next  morning  he  set  out  for  Mar 
tigny,  in  .Normandy,  remembering  the  writing 
in  the  recluse's  missal. 

Just  at  dusk  he  reached  the  village. 

As  he  entered  it  in  the  post-carriage,  a  man 
muffled  in  a  heavy  overcoat  passed,  running 
rapidly. 

The  man  seemed  making  foi  the  sea-coast,  a 
mile  or  so  distant,  where  some  mil-boats  were 
eeen. 

Earle  scarcely  looked  at  him     He  stopped 


BARON  DELAMER&. 


197 


at  the  inn.  and  was  directed  to  the  house  of 
the  curd. 

"  What  is  your  pleasure,  my  son  ?  "  said  the 
old  priest,  meeting  him  on  the  steps. 

"  To  see  your  register,  f athc  r,  and  find  the 
date  of  the  marriage  of  the  Temerairc  I 
Pshaw !  —  pardon,  father  !  They  have  given 
me  a  frigate,  and  it  has  turned  my  head  I " 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE   MUTILATED    REGISTER. 

'WO  hours  before  the  appearance  of  Earle 
at  the  village  of  Martigny,  a  man  of 
powerful  frame,  his  face  half-covered 
by  a  heavy  beard,  had  knocked  at  the 
door  of  the  old  priest's  house,  and,  receiving 
the  reply  "  Come  in,"  had  entered. 

"  You  are  the  priest  of  this  parish  ? "  said  the 
man,  with  a  foreign  accent 
"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  And  you  have  in  your  possession  the  record 
of  births  in  the  parish?" 
"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  I  wish  to  examine  them,  —  to  find  the  reg 
istry  of  the  birth  of  Jean  Angely,  cordwainer," 
gaid  the  man. 

The  old  priest  mildly  inolmod  his  head. 
(198) 


TttE    MUTILATED  REGISTER. 


"  That  will  be  easy,  my  son.  But  you 
we  poor  priests  are  very  curious,  having  BO 
little  to  amuse  us.  The  object  of  this  inquiry, 
my  son?" 

"That  Jean  Angely  may  inherit  property 
left  to  him.  His  cousin,  Guillaume  Angely, 
of  Tours,  leaves  a  farm  to  Jean  Angely,  born 
at  Martigny,  and  son  of  Robert  Angely  and 
Suzanne,  his  wife.  The  fact  of  his  birth 
needs  formal  proof.  The  register  will  prove 
it." 

The  priest  inclined  his  head,  and,  after  a  mo 
ment's  hesitation,  opened  a  closet.  From  this 
he  took  a  large  volume  in  black  leather,  and 
laid  it'  on  the  table. 

"  The  date  is  about  17  —  ,  "  said  the  man. 

"  An  error  of  a  year,  my  son." 

"  It  may  be." 

And  the  man  turned  over  the  leaves,  examin 
ing  the  register. 

As  he  was  thus  engaged,  a  second  knock 
came  at  the  door. 

"Come  in!"  repeated  the  old  priest,  and  a 
child  entered. 

"Well,  my  little  one?" 

The  child  modestly  held  down  his  head  and 
wid,  — 


200  THE  MUTILATED  REGISTER. 

u  Mother  Francois  is  dying,  Mid  wishes  to  sea 
you,  father." 

"  Mother  Francois  1  Dying  1  Why,  she  was 
scarcely  illl" 

He  rose  quickly  jrad  put  on  his  hat.  Then 
he  stopped,  looking  toward  the  man. 

Compassion  conquered,  however,  and  he 
went  toward  the  door. 

"  I  will  return  speedily,  my  son.  Await  my 
coming." 

And  he  left  the  room. 

As  the  door  closed,  the  man  turned  round 
and  listened  attentively.  The  priest's  footsteps 
receded. 

"  Good  I "  he  said ;  "  my  little  trap  has  caught 
the  old  bird.  I  have  ten  minutes." 

With  a  sharp  knife  he  rapidly  cut  from  the 
volume  one  of  the  leaves.  This  he  examined  a 
second  time,  to  be  sure  that  no  mistake  had  been 
made,  folded,  and  placed  in  his  pocket-book ; 
returned  the  latter  to  his  pocket;  and,  taking 
pen,  ink,  and  paper,  carefully  copied  the  entry 
hi  the  register,  relating  to  Jean  Angely,  cord- 
wainer. 

He  was  thus  occupied  when  the  old  priest 
returned,  red  in  the  face,  and  looking  much 
Mortified. 


TtiE  AtVTILAtED  REGISTER.          2C1 

"These  children!  these  children!"  he  mur 
mured:  "to  think  of  Emile  Drouet  playing  a 
trick  on  me." 

The  man  raised  his  head. 

"They  played  a  trick,  do  you  say?"  he  in 
quired. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  son ;  Mother  Francois  was 
much  better  than  when  I  saw  her  this  morning, 
and  had  never  sent  Emile.  That  child  will 
turn  out  badly." 

"  A  young  rascal ! "  said  the  man.  "  "Well,  I 
have  copied  the  entry  I  wish,  and  you  can  at 
test  it." 

"  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure,  my  son." 

And  comparing  the  copy  of  the  entry,  it  wai 
found  correct.  The  old  priest  then  certified  on 
the  paper  that  it  was  a  true  copy,  signed  his 
name,  and  the  man  folded  upi  the  document, 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Is  any  fee  to  be  paid  ? "  he  asked. 

"  None,  my  son.  It  is  my  duty  to  keep  the 
register,  and  afford  access  to  it.  I  can  even 
offer  you  a  part  of  my  poor  dinner,  if  it  please 
you  to  share  it." 

This  the  man  declined,  and  wrapping  a  great 
overcoat  around  him,  he  straightway  left  the 
priest's  house 


THE  MUTILATED  REGlSTE*. 


He  did  not  go  to  the  inn,  but  out  toward  tht 
suburbs,  in  the  direction  of  the  coast. 

Once  in  the  suburbs,  he  began  to  run,  mak 
ing  for  a  clump  of  woods  on  a  hill. 

He  saw  a  post-carriage  driving  rapidly  into 
Martigny  from  the  direction  of  Paris. 

He  scarcely  glanced  at  it,  and  reaching  the 
woods,  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

THE  EBVELA.TION. 

day  seemed  destined  to   be  a   busy 
_._     one  for  the  good  priest  of  Martigny. 

The  man  who  had  called  to  examine 
the  record  of  the  birth  of  Jean  Angely 
had  scarce  left  him,  when  another  appeared, 
anxious  to  know  "  the  date  of  the  marriage  of 
the  Temeraire" 

Earle  laughed,  and  corrected  himself. 
"I  mean  the  date  of   the  marriage  of  one 
who  was  probably  a  member  of   your  lock, 
father." 

"  Her  name,  my  son  ? n 
"  Marianne  Earle." 
The  old  priest  looked  up  quickly. 
" Marianne  Earle,  my  son? "  he  said. 
"  Jfea,  father.    Did  you  net  know  her  !" 

(203^ 


TtfE  REVELATION. 


"  As  I  should  know  my  own  child,  had  i  en 
joyed  the  happiness  of  paternity." 

"  Then  you  loved  her  ?  " 

"Tenderly." 

Again  the  old  priest  looked  intently  at  Earle 

"Well,  father,  then  you  will  certainly  b€ 
pleased  to  aid  me.  I  am  her  son." 

"  You  the  son  of  Marianne  Earle  I  n 

The  sailor  nodded. 

"  Does  that  seem  strange,  father  f  " 

"  And  she  sends  you  ?  " 

Earle  shook  his  head. 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  come  ?  " 

Earle  explained  his  object. 

The  old  priest  listened,  quietly  ;  but  it  was 
plain  that  he  was  weighing  every  word  which 
his  companion  uttered. 

"Now  you  understand,  father.  Pray  IOOK 
for  your  register.  I  wish  to  find  the  date  of 
my  mother's  marriage,  and  that  of  my  birth 
too." 

The  old  priest  did  not  move. 

"In  a  moment,  my  son.  Where  is  jx>ur  mo 
thernow?" 

"  In  Wales." 

"  You  have  seen  her  lately  !  " 

"Yea." 


?HE  REVELATION.  20C 

"  And  she  could  not  inf orm  you  of  the  exac» 
date?" 

"  Doubtless :  but  the  occasion  has  just  arisen ; 
jioreover,  she  has  always  preserved  a  singular 
silence  on  these  matters." 

"Her  silence  has  been  judicious,  my  son,'* 
said  the  old  priest,  gravely ;  "  I  know  its  cause 
and  approve  it." 

"  What  is  the  cause  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you  frankly.  She  wishes  to  pre 
serve  you  from  a  knowledge  of  your  father." 

"  Of  my  father  ?  Was  he  not  her  cousin,  Ed- 
mond  Earle  of  the  Marine  ? " 

The  priest  hesitated  an  instant. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  length  ;  "  he  was  a  heretic." 

"  My  father  a  heretic  !  —  and  not  Edinond 
Earle  !  —  you  astound  me,  father ! " 

"I  tell  you  the  truth,  my  son;  and  your 
mother  had  good  reason  to  conceal  all  this. 
She  was  one  of  my  flock,  and  I  knew  every 
thought  of  her  heart.  Every  breath  she  drew 
was  purity  itself,  and  she  placed  her  religious 
duties  before  all.  Your  father  would  surely 
have  corrupted  you — hence  she  fled  to  rescue 
you.  Now  you  come  and  ask  me  to  tell  you,  in 
effect  the  name  of  that  father.  Do  you  vender 
I  hesitate  1 ' 


206  THE  REVELATION. 

Earle  pondered  with  knit  brow  fa  a  moment 

"No  father  —  but  —  it  is  astounding!  Ed- 
mond  Earle  not  my  father  ?  His  name,  then  I 
his  name !  Or  rather  let  me  see  the  register !  " 

The  old  priest  said  solemnly,  — 

"  Swear  to  me,  that  you  will  not  be  corrupted 
by  him,  my  son." 

"Corrupted?" 

"  That  you  will  not  permit  him  to  shake  your 
faith  in  the  Holy  Church." 

"  I  swear  it,  father.  I  am  a  good  Catholic^ 
and  will  die  in  the  true  faith !  Does  that  sat 
isfy  you ?  My  father's  name  now?  " 

"  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  DISCOVERT. 

gave  a  violent  start  and  turned  BO 
pale  that  he  seemed  about  to  faint. 

"  Sir    Murdaugh    "Westbrooke ! "    he 
gasped,  —  "  that  man  my  father  1 " 
"Yes!" 

"You  laugh  at  me,  old  man!  My  father 
was  a  French  sailor,  Edmond  Earle,  a  brave 
man  and  a  good  Catholic." 

"You  are  mistaken.    Your  father  was  an 
Englishman,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  a  heretic, 
my  son ! " 
;'  Good  heavens  I n 

The  old  priest  assumed  an  expression  which 
eaid, — 

"  It  is  melancholy,  but  true ! " 
Then  he  added  in  words,  — 
"  You  doubtless  have  seen  him ! n 

CW7) 


208  THE    DISCOVERY. 

"Yes,"  said  the  sailor,  in  a  low  voice*,  hii 
>rows  knit,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  carpet. 

"  Without  knowing  of  the  relationship  ?  n 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  it,"  said  Earle,  in  the 
game  tone. 

Then  rising  suddenly,  and  losing  sight  appar 
ently  of  the  presence  of  the  priest,  he  paced 
hurriedly  up  and  down  the  room,  exclaiming  at 
intervals,  — 

"  That  man  my  father  !  —  the  husband  of  my 
mother,  living  there  within  sight  of  her;  never 
acknowledging,  or  perhaps  not  knowing  her! 
It  is  incredible,  or  it  is  infamous  !  That  mur 
derer  whom  I  have  just  renounced!  that  man 
who  has  tracked,  and  hunted  me  to  my  death 
well-nigh  !  that  assassin,  that  infamous  excres 
cence  of  humanity,  —  this  wretch  my  father! 
my  own  father  !  " 

He  sank  into  a  chair,  and  covered  his  face 
with  both  hands.  His  breast  shook,  a  deep  sob 
tore  its  way  from  his  lips,  and  scalding  tears 
trickled  between  his  fingers. 

The  old  priest  went  to  him,  and  said  sex  th- 


"  Do  not  be  so  much  moved,  my  son.  No 
human  being  can  control  his  fate.  It  is  noi 
your  fault  that  you  are  this  man's  son.  Dry  your 


THE  DISCOVERY.  209 

tears ;  seek  :onsolation  where  alcue  it  is  to  be 
found,  and  all  will  once  more  grow  peaceful  in 
vour  breast.  Lift  up  your  heart ! " 

The  old  man  man  raised  his  hand,  and 
pointed  toward  heaven.  Earle  slowly  inclined 
his  head,  and  removed  his  hands.  Ilis  face  was 
wet  with  tears. 

" Enough,  father,"  he  said.    "I  was  a  child 
for  a  moment,  but  I  am  a  man  again." 
His  face  flushed.    He  rose  to  his  feet. 
"  Yes,  a  man !  and  my  mother  shall  not  suf 
fer!" 

"Your  mother?" 

"  She  shall  not  be  repudiated  by  that  man  1 
I  know  him  too  well ;  he  has  acted  infamously, 
if  he  is  my  father ;  he  is  bent  on  acting  more  in 
famously  still." 
"  Tell  me  all,  my  son." 

"He  designs  marrying  a  second  time;  and 
even  now  may  be  perfecting  that  crime  in  spite 
of  all  I  have  done  to  destroy  him  1 " 

"  You  I  a  second  marriage !  Why  that  would 
be  no  marriage,  since  your  mother  still  lives, 
you  say.  And  you  speak  of  attempting  to  dee- 
troy  him  !  How  is  all  this,  my  son  ?  " 

Earle  grew  calm,  collected,  and  on  his  guard 
&11  at  once.    The  old  priest's  foible  was  evidenth 
14 


210  THE  D.  SCO  VERY. 

curiosity ;  but  the  sailor  did  not  wish  to  gratify 
this  curiosity.  A  heavy  weight  was  on  his  heart, 
and  he  saw  that  there  was  no  time  to  lose  if  he 
meant  to  act. 

"  I  am  in  haste  now,  father,"  he  said,  "  and 
must  reserve  my  story  for  another  occasion. 
At  present  I  request  that  you  will  exhibit  to  me 
your  register,  and  supply  me  with  an  attested' 
copy  of  the  marriage  record  of  Marianne  Earle 
and  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke.  It  is  here  — 
the  register  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  son  ;  there  upon  the  table." 

And  the  old  priest  approached  the  table,  and 
opened  the  volume  bound  in  black  leather. 

"Another  person  has  just  visited  me,  on  an 
errand  similar  to  yours,  my  son.  His  object 
was  to  procure  a  copy,  attested,  of  a  certain 
birth  entry.  What  yon  wish  is  further  back. 
It  ought  to  be  here,"  he  added,  stopping  as  he 
turned  over  the  leaves. 

He  examined  the  pages. 

"  Strange !"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  find  it,  and 
yet—" 

He  looked  at  the  paging  of  the  vclnme.  At 
a  glance  it  was  evident  that  one  of  the  aheeti 
was  missing,  since  page  39  followed  page  36. 

"Can  it  bet" 


THE  DISCOVERY.  211 

the  priest  examined  the  voltiine  more 
closely.  A  sheet  had  been  cut  out.  The  nar 
rr  w  strip  remained  indicating  the  theft. 

"It  is  incredible!  How  was  it  possible  ?  Yes, 
yes !  while  I  was  absent !  That  was  a  plan  laid 
to  remove  me.  Not  a  doubt  of  it !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father  ? "  exclaimed 
Earle. 

"  It  is  gone,  my  son.  The  entry  of  youi 
father  and  mother's  marriage  has  been  stolen  1" 

"  Stolen  !     By  whom  ?  " 

"  By  the  man  who  was  here  an  hour  ago. " 

"The  man  — !" 

"  An  Englishman,  as  I  conjectured  from  his 
accent.  He  had  me  sent  for  on  a  false  errand ; 
remained  here,  and  must  have  cut  out  this  leaf." 

Earle  gazed  in  astonishment  at  the  book,  and 
saw  the  narrow  slip. 

"  What  interest  could  any  one  have  in  —  " 

Suddenly  he  stopped. 

"  An  Englishman,  did  you  say,  father  ?  n 

"  As  I  supposed,  my  son." 

u  His  appearance  ? " 

"A  large  man  of  great  bulk  and  strength, 
though  not  tall.  He  had  a  heavy  black  beard  on 
his  face,  and  wore  an  English  dreadnought 
coat" 


212  THE  DISCOVERY. 

"It  was  "Wilde  1 "  exclaimed  Earle ;  "  and  he 
was  sent  hither  by  his  master.  This  proof  of 
the  marriage  with  my  mother  existed.  He  IB 
bent  on  marrying  again,  and  has  abstracted  it." 

He  turned  quickly,  and  seized  his  hat. 

"  What  route  did  the  man  take,  father  ? " 

"I  can  tell  you  that,  my  son.  He  went 
straight  toward  the  coast." 

Earle  hastened  toward  the  door. 

"  Farewell,  father !  I  am  going  to  pursue 
him.  I  have  fifteen  days'  furlough  ;  this  cloak 
will  conceal  my  uniform.  From  this  moment 
it  is  a  struggle  which  of  us  shall  reach  England 
first.  I  will  have  that  paper,  or  the  life  of  the 
man  who  carries  it  on  his  person.  If  he  arrives 
with  it,  all  is  lost  I  If  I  come  up  with  him  all 
is  saved.  Farewell,  father  1  Your  blessing.  I 
go  on  a  dangerous  journey." 

And  turning  suddenly,  the  young  man  knelt 
on  one  knee. 

"  Heaven  bless  and  prosper  you,  my  son  1 n 

A  moment  afterwards  Earle  had  disappeared 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  BLOW  OF  THE  WHIP. 

T  the  moment  when  Earle  left  Paris,  on 
his  way  to  Martigny,  events  of  import 
ance  to  the  personages  of  this  history 
were  occurring  in  Pembrokeshire. 
Arthur  Maverick  was  seated  in  his  library, 
gloomily  reflecting,  when  a  servant  entered  and 
announced  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke. 

A  moment  afterwards  the  baronet  entered. 
His  brow  was  as  black  as  night,  and  there 
was  something  venomous  and  yet  apprehensive 
in  the  glance  shot  sidewise  from  his  deep-set 
eyes. 

Arthur  Maverick  rose  quickly.  His  whole 
person  seemed  suddenly  to  have  stiffened  into 
stone. 

"Your  pleasure,  sirl"  he  said,  in   a   7oice 

0818) 


214  THE  BLOW  OF   THE   WHIP. 

which  was  scarcely  recognizable  "  What  doei 
my  father's  murderer  propose  to  himself  ir 
coming  to  this  house  ? " 

The  young  man's  expression  was  sick  and 
scornful.  It  was  plain  that  he  tolerated  the 
presence  of  the  baronet  only  by  a  strong  effort. 

"  I  came  to  speak  of  that,"  was  the  low  reply 
of  Sir  Murdaugh  "Westbrooke;  "to  ascertain 
if  I  am  to  suffer  in  the  estimation  of  yourself 
and  the  Misses  Maverick  from  the  testimony  of 
a  vagabond  and  the  attack  of  a  mad  dog." 

Arthur  looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  the  vagabond  testi 
fied  against  you  ? "  he  said. 

Sir  Murdaugh  "Westbrooke  was  caught. 

"I  thought  as  much.  He  is  my  enemy  and 
has  endevored  to  extort  money  from  me.  He 
made  up  the  whole  of  this  base  charge.  Your 
father  and  myself  never  met  after  our  quarrel 
on  the  race-course." 

"  Not  even  when  he  bound  you  to  a  tree  and 
lashed  you  ? " 

Sir  Murdaugh  quivered  with  rage  at  the 
scornful  glance  of  the  young  man. 

u  That  is  a  lie,  like  the  charge  of  murder.  He 
never  so  outraged  me." 

ou  think  I  will  believe  you —  you,  the 


THE  BLOW  Of  THE   WHIP.  215 

convicted  liar  and  murderer  J"  exclaimed  the 
young  man.  "  You  suppose,  then,  that  I  am  a 
baby  —  that  because  I  have  not  arrested  you, 
you  will  go  free.  Undeceive  yourself.  Your 
fate  approaches.  At  the  next  assizes  I  lay  an 
information  against  you,  and  the  gallows  shall 
avenge  my  father." 

Sir  Murdaugh  rose  in  tremendous  wrath. 

"  Then  there  are  none  but  enemies  here,"  he 
growled. 

"  You  have  one  friend  at  least,"  exclaimed  a 
?oice  at  the  door,  and  Ellinor  bounded  into, 
rather  than  simply  entered  the  apartment. 

"  Yes ! "  she  cried,  "  there  is  one  person  who 
disbelieves  this  infamous  fabrication,  this  slan 
der  based  on  the  testimony  of  spies  and  vaga 
bonds  and  dogs.  My  cousin  there,"  and  she 
scornfully  pointed  towards  Authur,  "may  be 
lieve  as  he  chooses,  and  insult  the  guests  in  his 
own  house  to  his  heart's  desire ;  but  I,  at  least, 
will  not  do  that.  I  cling  to — " 

"  Your  rich  suitor,  madam  ? " 

And  with  an  expression  of  overpowering 
gcorn,  Arthur  Maverick  made  his  cousin  a  low 
fcow. 

The  contempt  of  his  voice  and  expression 
Deemed  to  sting  the  fair  Ellinor  into  wild  rage. 


TtfE  BLOW  Of   THE 


"If  I  am  to  be  insulted,  I  will  leave  thia 
house.  I  am  not  homeless;  Lady  Worsham 
will  protect  me." 

"As  you  please,  madam,"  said  the  young  man, 
making  her  a  second  bow  of  profound  cere 
mony.  "  You  are  welcome  here  as  long  as  you 
remain  Miss  Ellinor  Maverick.  If  you  design 
becoming  Lady  Westbrooke,  the  ceremony  will 
not  take  place  here." 

The  young  lady  could  scarce  contain  her  rage 
at  these  words. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  she  said,  shooting  a  wrathful 
glance  at  her  cousin  ;  "  will  you  have  the  good 
ness  to  order  a  carriage  to  take  me  to  Lady 
Worsham's?" 

Arthur  Maverick  quietly  rang  a  bell,  and  a 
servant  entered. 

"The  coach!  "he  said. 

The  servant  disappeared. 

"I  will  not  remain  here  an  instant  longer 
than  is  necessary,  sir." 

And  going  out,  the  young  lady  banged  the 
door  violently  after  her. 

Sir  Murdaugh  had  listened  attentively.  He 
had  supposed  his  suit  at  an  end  forever.  Now 
the  unexpected  turn  of  affairs  showed  him  that 
he  might  derive  enormous  advantage  from 


THE  BLOW  Of   THE    l?fflP.  SI 7 

Cllinor's  continued  adhesion  to  her  engagement 
Who  would  be  brought  to  believe  that  he  was  a 
murderer,  when  Miss  Maverick  consented  to  be 
eome  Lady  Westbrooke?  Would  the  niece 
marry  the  murderer  of  her  own  uncle  ?  No  one 
would  believe  that.  It  was  with  a  sudden  senti 
ment  of  safety  and  triumph,  therefore,  that  the 
baronet  prepared  to  depart. 

"  I  will  imitate  Miss  Maverick  now,  sir,  and 
rid  you  of  my  furthur  presence  here,"  he  said, 
venomously. 

"  Do  eo,"  said  Arthur  Maverick,  "  and  beware 
how  you  return." 

"  And  you,  sir,  beware  how  you  insult  me," 
hissed  the  baronet. 

"  Insult  you  ?    You  are  not  worth  insult." 

"Beware!" 

"  This  is  my  reply  to  you." 

And  seizing  a  riding-whip  lying  on  the  table 
near,  the  young  man,  in  a  wild  rage  at  the  pres 
ence  of  his  father's  murderer,  struck  the  baronet 
a  furious  blow  across  the  face. 

In  an  instant  they  would  have  clutched  each 
other ;  but  the  door  suddenly  flew  open. 

"The  blood-hound,  sir!"  exclaimed  a  servant, 
rushing  into  the  apartment. 

"What  of  the  hound?"  said   Arthur  Mav« 


218  THE  BLOW  OF  THE   WHIP. 

erick,  pale  with  passicn,  and  quivering  hi  everj 
muscle. 

"  There  at  the  door,  sir.  He  has  gone  mad, 
they  say." 

In  spite  of  himself,  the  baronet  turned  pale. 

"  We  meet  again  ! "  he  gasped,  hoarsely,  ad 
dressing  Arthur  Maverick.  "  You  have  struck 
me,  outraged  me :  you  shall  answer  with  your 
life." 

And  seeing  that  the  way  was  clear,  he 
hastened  forth  and  mounted  his  horse.  A  mo 
ment  afterward,  he  was  goirg  down  the  avenue 
at  full  speed. 

Suddenly  a  hoarse  and  prolonged  bay  was 
heard  in  the  grounds.  Then  a  white  object 
darted  swiftly  from  a  mass  of  shrubbery  on  hia 
track. 

The  blood-hound  had  seen  anJ  wa«  pnnrobig 
him. 


CHAPTER  VL 


THE  MAD  DOO. 

HE  baronet  rode  on  at  the  fall  speed  of 

his  horse. 

That  deep  and  ominous  bay  had 
shown  him  his  danger,  and  he  had  now 
a  double  reason  to  fear  the  blood-hound.  Not 
only  was  the  animal  his  sworn  enemy  as  the 
murderer  of  Giles  Maverick, — he  was  mad,  and 
his  bite  was  mortal,  no  longer  &  mere  wound. 

Thus  it  was  a  race  for  life.  As  he  went  on 
at  headlong  speed,  he  heard  the  hound  on  his 
track. 

The  dog  had  cleared  the  tall  gate  in  the  waL 
enclosing  the  grounds,  at  one  leap ;  had  plainly 
descried  the  baronet  going  at  full  speed  over 
the  high-road ;  and  now,  with  hanging  tongne, 
quick  pants,  and  grinning  mouth,  he  pursued 


220  THE  MAJ)  DOG. 

him  at  a  pace  which  premised  to  put  his  enetnj 
in  his  power  in  a  few  minutes. 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  was  brave,  but  Lia 
heart  sank  within  him  as  he  drove  his  horse  on. 
The  hoarse  bay  of  the  mad  hound  rang  in  his 
ears  like  the  trump  of  doom.  Every  instant  he 
seemed  to  be  gaining  on  his  enemy  in  the  wild 
race. 

Suddenly  his  horse,  into  whose  sides  he  had 
driven  the  spur  mercilessly,  stumbled  and  half 
fell. 

With  a  curse,  his  rider  dragged  him  up,  and 
again  struck  the  spur  into  him. 

But  the  instant  thus  lost  was  nearly  fatal  to 
the  baronet.  The  hound  reached  him  and 
sprung  at  his  throat,  his  eyes  glaring,  his  mouth 
slavering. 

But  for  the  sudden  grasp  on  the  bridle,  that 
moment  would  have  been  the  baronet's  last 
The  horse  rose  to  his  feet  again,  and  the  blood 
hound  missed  his  spring.  The  sharp  teeth,  in 
stead  of  fixing  themselves  in  the  baronet's  throat, 
clutched  his  riding  boot. 

Death  had  grazed  him  thus,  and  he  improved 
the  incident  promptly. 

With  a  blow  from  bis  clencted  hand,  cased 
in  a  heavy  riding  gauntlet,  he  t  urled  the  hound 


THE  MAD  DOG.  221 

from  him.  The  animal  rolled  over  on  his  back, 
and  again  the  baronet  went  on  headlong,  intent 
on  nothing  now  but  escape. 

All  at  once,  however,  the  ominous  bay  was 
again  heard.  "With  a  sudden  chill  at  his  heart, 
he  turned  his  head  and  looked  back.  The  hound 
was  once  more  pursuing  him,  more  resolute  and 
enraged  than  before. 

At  that  spectacle  the  murderer  felt  a  pang  of 
mortal  fear.  Despair  clutched  him,  as  he  felt 
the  venomous  teeth  would  soon  do.  The  image 
of  the  man  whom  he  had  assassinated  rose  and 
"  shook  his  gory  locks  at  him."  In  the  agony 
of  his  soul  he  shouted,  — 

"  Help !  help !  that  dog  will  murder  mo. 
Help!" 

Suddenly  his  horse  shied  violently.  He  had 
nearly  ridden  over  a  man  in  the  road.  This 
man  was  rudely  clad,  and  shouted,  — 

"What  be  the  matter?" 

"  The  dog ! "  gasped  the  baronet. 

And  he  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

The  mad  blood-hound  was  within  ten  feet  of 
him. 

"  Ten  guineas  if  you  kill  him  1 "  he  gasped. 

AB  he  spoke,  the  hound  sprung.  But  the 
man  had  understood,  and  met  him. 


222  THE  MAD  DOG. 

They  clutched  and  rolled  on  the  road,  locked 
in  a  mortal  hug. 

The  baronet  did  not  wait.  He  put  spur  to  hii 
horse  and  disappeared  at  headlong  speed  toward 
Westbrooke  Hall. 

He  was  saved. 


An  hour  afterward  one  of  the  fraternity  of 
wolves  entered  Oldport,  with  his  breast  covered 
with  blood. 

The  blood  flowed  from  a  deep  wound  in  his 
throat,  which  had  swelled  suddenly. 

When  his  brother  wolves  questioned  him,  he 
said  he  had  met  a  man  chased  by  a  dog,  the  man 
had  offered  him  ten  guineas  to  kill  the  dog,  and 
he  had  killed  him. 

Then  the  "wolf"  ceased  speaking,  and  began 
to  snap  at  those  around  him. 

Two  days  afterwards  he  was  attacked  with 
convulsions,  and  four  men  were  required  to 
hold  him. 

On  the  next  day  he  was  calmer,  but  suddenly 
drawing  up  his  limbs,  expired. 

The  dead  hound  had  been  discovered  on  the 
road  to  Maverick  House.  The  "  wolf  "  had  sue- 


THE  MAD  DOG. 


223 


ceeded  in  strangling  him,  but  the  mortal  poison 
had  been  communicated. 

Ho  had  died  of  the  bite  of  the  mad  dog,  in 
place  of  the  baronet,  and  even  the  ten  guineai 
were  unpaid. 


CHAPTER  VIL 


THH   BTJEIAL   OF   THE  WOLF. 

HE  wob  es  followed  their  dead  companion 
to  the  grave,  with  solemn  ceremony. 

The  scene  of  sepulture  was  a  wild  spot 
on  the  very  brink  of  the  sea,  and  the  fish 
ermen  had  enclosed  the  space  by  piling  up 
masses  of  i  u;k,  which  from  the  channel  resem 
bled  rough  defences  against  cannon. 

Up  the  rigged  path  which  led  to  this  burial 
place  they  now  bore  the  dead  wolf,  the  rude 
coffin  enclosing  his  remains  carried  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  brethren  ;  and  reaching  the 
wall,  they  Iift3d  the  coffin  over,  and  carried  it 
to  the  side  of  the  grave. 

Then  the  ce/emony  of  interring  a  member  of 
the  fraternity  of  the  wolves  began.  No  priest 
of  any  denomination  was  present,  and  there  was 
something  heathenish  in  the  strange  rites. 

(224) 


THE  BURIAL  OF  THE   WOLP.          225 

Hands  were  joined  around  the  gravt,  the 
wolves  circled  it  slowly,  beating  the  ground 
with  monotonous  feet ;  then  a  wild  and  melan 
choly  chant  rose,  and  was  carried  away  by  the 
wind. 

This  lasted  for  half  an  hour.  Then  the  hands 
were  unlocked  and  the  coffin  lowered  into  the 
grave  amid  deep  murmurs. 

"Who  is  this  we  be  a  burying?"  came  in 
hoarse  tones  from  the  gigantic  Goliath. 

"A  wolf ! "  was  the  muffled  response  from  the 
voices  of  all  present. 

Goliath  extended  his  hand  solemnly. 

"  So  mote  it  be ! "  he  thundered ;  "  and  cursed 
be  the  man  who  moves  the  bones  of  a  wolf  I " 

As  he  spoke  he  took  a  handful  of  earth  and 
threw  il  on  the  coffin.  The  men  did  likewise, 
each  in  turn,  and  the  grave  was  speedily  filled. 

Then  the  wild-looking  figures  joined  hands 
and  encircled  the  grave  once  more,  beat  the 
ground  with  their  feet,  and  repeated  their 
monotonous  chant. 

It  ended  at  last.  They  left  the  burial  ground, 
and  slowly  wound  down  the  hill  toward  the 
coast.  As  they  disappeared,  night  descended, 
and  the  moon  rose,  throwing  her  pallid  light  on 
land  and  sea. 
16 


826  THE  BURIAL    OF   THE   WOLF. 

Such  had  been  the  wolfs  burial.  * 

An  hour  past  midnight,  and  a  figure  leaped 
the  wall,  followed  in  a  moment  by  another. 

The  moon  revealed  the  faces  of  these  men, 
who  carried  picks  and  spades.  They  were  the 
two  rough  personages  whom  Earle  and  the 
gypsy  had  encountered  that  night  bearing  the 
corpse  into  "Westbrooke  Hall. 

"  This  is  the  place,  mate,"  said  one  of  them ; 
"  it  is  easily  found." 

"  By  the  fresh  earth  —  you  are  right." 

"  And  now  to  work ;  this  job  is  dangerous." 

"  Dangerous  ? " 

"  This  is  one  of  the  wolves,  and  I'm  told  they 
are  sworn  to  put  a  knife  into  whoever  disturbs 
one  of  'em." 

"  Ough  1 1  never  heard  that" 

"  It  makes  the  job  worth  five  guineas  more." 

"Exactly." 

And  without  further  words  they  proceeded 
vigorously  to  work. 

In  an  hour  the  coffin  responded  to  the  blow 
of  the  pick. 

"  Take  care,  mate  1 "  said  one,  as  the  dull 
sound  was  heard. 

"Eight." 

And  proceeding  more  carefully,  they  BCOO 


THE  BURIAL    OF   THE   WOLF.  227 

unearthed  the  long  box  without  noise,  and 
wrenching  off  the  lid,  Iragged  forth  the  dead 
body. 

"He's  a  rongh-looking  one,"  muttered  the 
man  who  lifted  the  corpse, "  and  his  neck  is  all 
swollen." 

"  On  account  of  the  dog." 

"  Hurry  up,  mate." 

And  laying  the  body  on  the  earth,  they  pro 
ceeded  rapidly  to  fill  up  the  grave  again. 

This  was  soon  accomplished,  and  they  then 
lifted  the  body  over  the  fence,  and  bore  it  on 
their  shoulders  down  the  rough  path  leading 
toward  the  interior. 

In  a  clump  of  bushes  a  small  vehicle  was 
waiting.  Into  this  they  pushed  the  corpse  as  if 
it  were  the  body  of  an  animal. 

"  Come  on,  mate  ;  I  don't  like  this  job.  Seems 
to  me  they  are  a  watching  of  us." 

And  the  speaker  hastily  got  into  the  wagon. 
The  other  followed,  and  in  a  business  like  way 
took  his  seat  on  the  corpse. 

Then  the  single  horse  was  whipped  up,  the 
vehicle  rolled  away,  and  night  swallowed  it. 

The  grave  of  the  wolf  ^iad  been  rifled.  Would 
the  curse  descend  ? 


CHAPTER  VITL 


TUB  CHASE. 

[T  was  the  night  succeeding  these  events. 
Darkness  and  storm  had  rushed  down 
simultaneously  on  the  coast  of  Pem 
brokeshire. 

The  surges  of  St.  George's  Channel,  lashed 
to  fury  by  the  breath  of  a  veritable  hurricane, 
broke  in  thunder  on  the  jagged  reefs  and 
ledges  of  rock  jutting  from  the  water,  and 
died  away  in  the  caverncus  recesses  beneath 
the  great  headland  near  Oldport,  like  the 
hoarse  bellowing  of  bulls,  01  the  dull  boom  of 
artillery. 

The  coast  was  absolutely  deserted.    Scarce 
a  light  glimmered  in  Oldport.    On  the  head 
land,  no  beacon  "ight  warned  barks  off  the  per 
ilous  reef.    The  light  of  the  blood-red  moon 
(228) 


THE   CHAS&.  229 

alone,  shining  through  a  rift  in  die  black 
clouds,  toward  the  east,  contended  with  the 
ebon  darkness,  and  revealed,  in  their  full  hor 
ror,  the  foam-capped  reefs. 

All  at  once  a  sail-boat  might  have  been  seen 
darting  toward  land.  It  was  a  vessel  of  the 
smallest  size,  and  careened  terribly  under  the 
great  pressure  of  canvas. 

Clinging  to  the  single  mast  was  a  man 
wrapped  in  a  dreadnought,  and  with  his  hand  in 
his  breast.  Three  other  men  were  on  the  bark, 
but  they  were  crouching,  pale  and  sullen. 

"  "We'll  all  go  to  the  bottom ! "  said  one  of 
the  men,  who  seemed  to  be  the  owner  of  the 
boat. 

"You  are  paid!"  was  the  gruff  reply  of 
Wilde — for  he  it  was  who  stood  erect,  clinging 
to  the  mast. 

"  What's  pay  if  we  go  down  ? "  said  the  sullen 
one. 

"  But  we  wont !  " 

"  Look  at  that  reef !     Down  with  the  helm ! n 

And  he  started  to  his  feet. 

The  vessel  grazed  a  grinning  reef,  scraped, 
and  darted  on.  She  was  a  mere  cork  —  the 
winds  drove  her  like  a  dry  leaf  of  autumn  c  rei 
the  foaming  waves. 


230  1HE   CHASh. 

"If  I  only  arrive,"  muttered  Wilde,  "  I  have 
my  fortune  here  1 " 

And  he  clutched  a  package  in  his  breast,  — 
the  pocket-book  containing  the  stolen  leaf  from 
the  register  at  Martigny. 

"Look  1 "  suddenly  shouted  the  skipper  of  the 
vessel.  "  There  is  that  devilish  craft  following 
us  still  1" 

And  he  pointed  to  a  sail-boat  similar  to  his 
own,  which  was  darting  towards  them. 

Wilde  uttered  a  curse. 

"  I  thought  you  had  got  away  from  her  1 " 

"  I  thought  so  too !  But  there  she  is,  —  fol 
lowed  us  all  the  way  from  the  coast  of 
France ! " 

And,  knitting  his  brows,  he  muttered,  — 

"  A  sailor  is  on  board  of  her !  I  believe  I'll 
throw  this  Englishman  overboard,  and  strike  to 
the  craft  that's  been  pursuing  us ! " 

Wilde  heard  the  muttered  words,  and  drew 
a  long  knife  from  Seneath  his  coat. 

"  Death  to  the  man  who  touches  me  I "  he 
growled,  with  the  accent  and  manner  of  a  wild 
animal. 

"  And  death  to  the  man  who  is  running  us 
on  these  reefs  to  go  to  the  bottom  I " 

AB  he  spoke,  the  Frenchman  drew  a  knife  IB 


THE  CHASR.  231 

his  tun),  his  companions  exactly  imitated  him, 
and  they  rushed  straight  on  Wilde. 

It  was  too  late. 

Before  they  had  reached  him  where  he  stood 
c  Jnging  with  his  left  hand  to  the  mast,  a  crash 
like  thunder  was  heard,  the  bark  staggered,  and 
reeled  backward.  She  had  run  right  on  a  reef/ 
and  two  of  the  Frenchmen  were  hurled  over 
board. 

As  they  disappeared,  a  single  cry  cut  the 
darkness  like  a  steel  blade.  An  instant  after 
wards  the  heads  were  engulfed  and  the  men 
dashed  to  pieces  on  the  jagged  rocks. 

The  third  Frenchman  uttered  a  shout  of  rage, 
and  struck  at  Wilde. 

As  he  did  so,  his  foot  slipped. 

An  instant  afterwards  Wilde  had  seized  him 
and  hurled  him  into  the  sea. 

The  craft  grated  with  harsh  thunder  on  the 
rocks,  and  then  darted  ahead. 

The  momentary  arrest  of  her  progress  had, 
however,  given  her  pursuers  time  to  gain  upon 
her. 

As  she  drove  on  now,  the  craft  following 
hovered  above  her,  on  the  summit  of  a  gigantic 
wave — and  in  the  prow  a  man,  wrappei  in  a 
cloak,  gazed  eagerly  toward  her. 


232  THE  CHASE. 

"  She  struck,  Captain ! "  said  ,ne  if  the 
men,  "  arid  look !  —  again  ! " 

In  fact,  the  sail-boat  containing  Wilde,  had 
rnshed  straight  on  a  still  more  dangerous 
reef. 

It  finished  her.  The  sharp  teeth  tore  her 
hull  to  shreds  —  she  burst  in  two,  and  her  mast 
sunk,  dragging  the  sail  like  the  wing  of  a 
wounded  sea-bird.  Wilde  was  thrown  into  the 
water,  and  struck  out  powerfully  for  the  strand, 
now  not  two  hundred  yards  distant. 

"  He  will  escape  I  "  cried  the  man  in  the  boat 
in  pursuit. 

And  without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  threw 
off  his  cloak,  and  plunged  into  the  boiling 
waves. 

Then  a  tremendous  contest  took  place  be 
tween  the  adversaries.  On  one  side  was  enor 
mous  strength  and  great  skill  as  a  a  swimmer ; 
on  the  other,  equal  skill,  if  not  so  much 
strength,  and  a  burning  resolve  to  reach  the 
man  he  was  in  pursuit  of,  or  die. 

The  wind  howled ;  the  waves  struck  them ; 
the  moon  was  blotted  out ;  all  was  darknesa 
Btill  Wilde  darted  <xi,  pursued  by  Earle. 


CHAPTEK  IX. 


THE   MYSTERY   OF   THE   DEAD   BODIES. 

]HILE  these  events  were  occurring  cu 
the  storm-lashed  coast  of  St.  George's 
Channel,  a  sombre  scene  might  have 
been  witnessed  at  Westbrooke  Hall. 
In  an  apartment  of  the  mansion,  furnished 
with  only  two  or  three  chairs  and  a  long  pine 
table,  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  clad  in  his 
old  dressing-gown,  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up, 
was  dissecting  a  dead  body. 

The  corpse  was  that  of  the  "  wolf,"  carried 
off  from  the  lonely  spot  near  the  sea ;  and  at  the 
door  stood  one  of  the  rough  persons  who  had 
effected  the  robbery  of  the  grave,  thus  pro 
viding  the  "subject"  wnich  the  baronet  was 
engaged  in  dissecting 

Sir  Murdaugh,   with  animated 


234      MYSTERY  Of  THE   DEAD  &OD1ES. 

and  an  expression  of  horrible  avidity  in  hii 
eyes,  cut  away  at  the  body :  the  man  gazed  at 
him  with  interest  and  a  curiosity  which  was 
plain  in  his  expression. 

All  at  once  the  baronet  turned,  bloody  scalpel 
in  hand,  and  grinned.  His  yellow  tusks  pro 
truded  frightfully  thereupon,  and,  to  speak 
plainly,  he  was  extremely  hideous. 

"  Gubbs  1 "  he  said. 

The  man  thus  addressed  returned,  — 

"Your  honor?" 

"  This  seems  a  strange  way  of  amusing  my- 
Belf,  Gubbs?" 

As  the  words  were  uttered  in  the  tone  of  at 
inquiry,  the  man  said,  — 

"  Yes,  your  honor." 

The  baronet  grinned  again.  The  occupation 
in  which  he  was  engaged  always  put  him  in  a 
good  humor.  To  see  the  flesh  of  his  dead  sub 
jects  divide  at  the  application  of  the  knife, 
almost  invariably  communicated  a  singular 
and  repulsive  cheerfulness  to  the  baronet's 
expression. 

"You  wonder,  I  suppose,  Gubbs,"  he  said, 
"why  I  dissect.  Well,  supjose  I  tell  you.  It 
is  simple,  and  easily  explained.  When  I  was  a 
young  man,  I  acquired  a  taste  for  surgery  iu 


MYSTERY  Ot    THE  JLAD   BODIES,     235 

the  great  hospitals  of  Paris.  I  was  poor — was 
then  simple  Hurdaugh  Westbrooke ;  studied 
surgery.  Afterwards  I  had  no  occasion  to 
enter  the  fraternity  of  leg  and  arm  cutters ;  but 
I  was  as  fond  as  ever  of  this  —  1  am  fond  of 
it  etill;  and  so  I  amuse  myself,  you  see, 
Gubbs,  in  this  highly  scientific  manner." 

The  tusks  became  the  most  prominent 
features  in  the  baronet's  face  as  he  spoke. 
His  yellow  teeth  came  out  too,  jagged  and 
awry;  his  eyes,  bloodshot  but  glittering  with 
pleasure,  rolled  in  their  cavernous  sockets. 

"  Other  men  like  wine  and  cards  and 
women,"  said  the  baronet,  plunging  his  knife 
into  the  body,  —  "  I  like  this  ! " 

And  with  a  keen  stroke,  he  cut  into  the  sub 
ject,  making  a  clear  circular  incision  which 
nearly  divided  it. 

"  Every  man  to  his  taste  1  this  is  mine." 

And  he  eagerly  repeated  the  stroke.  As  he 
did  so,  the  knife  slipped,  and  inflicted  a  slight 
wound  upon  his  hand. 

"  Take  care,  your  honor, "  said  the  man, "  I've 
hearn  that  was  dangerous." 

"What?" 

"  To  cut  yourself  while  yc  a  were  sarving 
away  at  one  of  them." 


236     MYSTERY  OF  TtJE   DEAD  BODIES. 

And  he  pointed  to  the  body. 

"  True,  it  is  sometimes.     But  a  little 
will  prevent  danger." 

And  going  to  a  basin  he  washed  his  hands 
and  looked  at  it. 

The  knife  had  punctured  the  palm  and  blood 
exuded. 

"  An  ugly  scratch  1 "  he  muttered,  "  but  no 
harm  can  come  of  it  now." 

As  he  spoke,  he  bound  a  handkerchief  around 
the  hand,  and  returned  to  his  work. 

"  Anything  further  to  do,  to-night,  your  hon 
or  ? "  said  the  man. 

"Nothing,  but  come  ba,ck  to-morrow." 

All  at  once  hurried  steps  were  heard,  and  the 
door  was  thrown  open. 

As  it  flew  back,  Wilde  rushed  in ;  his  face 
flushed,  his  eyes  sparkling,  his  clothes  wet  and 
dripping. 

"  You  have  it ! "  exclaimed  the  baronet. 

"  Yes,  your  honor,  —  but  I  am  nearly  dead. 
He  —  that  one  —  pursued  me  ;  both  boats  were 
wrecked  on  the  reef  yonder.  I  swam  ashore, 
he  after  me, — he  clutched  me  just  as  I  touched 
land.  I  stabbed  him,  and  got  off  in  the  dark." 

The  baronet  had  scarcely  listened. 

u  The  paper  I "  he  exclaimed. 


MYSTERY  OF  THE  DEAD  BODIES.      237 

•'  Here  it  is,  your  honor." 

And  Wilde  drew  forth  the  leaf  which  he 
bad  stolen  from  the  register,  —  the  proof  of  8ii 
Murdaugh's  marriage  with  Marianne  Earle. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  DEN  OP  THE  WOLF. 

I TLDE  had  accurately  narrated  what  had 
taken  place  between  himself  and  Earle. 
The  sailor  by  almost  superhuman  ef 
forts  had  succeeded  in  coming  up  with 
his  opponent  just  as  Wilde  emerged  half  dead 
with  cold    and  exhaustion  from  the  blinding 
surf ;  had  grappled  with  him,  intent  alone  on 
arresting  his  further  progress ;   and  the  power 
ful  gamekeeper  thus  assailed  by  his  mortal 
foe,  had  just  strength  enough  to  draw  his  knife 
and  strike  at  Earle  as  the  latter  clutched  him. 
The  knife  passed  through  the  fleshy  part  of 
the  sailor's  arm,  and  inflicted  a  painful  wound. 
It  was  far  from  disabling  him  however,  and 
it  was  the  darkness  alone  which  saved  Wilde. 
He  tore  away  from  Earle  as  he  struck,  push' 
(238) 


THE  DEN  OF  THE    WOLF.  239 

ing  back  his  opponent  as  he  did  so ;  then,  with 
a  single  bound,  he  disappeared  in  the  gloom, 
running  rapidly  over  the  sandy  shore,  which 
gave  back  no  sound,  and  enabled  him  to  evade 
his  pursuer. 

Earle  had  rushed  after  him,  but  all  was  in 
vain.  Wilde  had  vanished,  and  no  sound  indi 
cated  the  direction  in  which  he  had  gone.  In 
ten  minutes  the  sailor  gave  up  the  pursuit,  and 
stopped,  panting  and  nearly  exhausted  from  the 
blood  which  he  had  lost  from  his  wound. 

He  looked  around  him.  All  was  dark.  A 
few  lights  glimmered  in  the  village  of  Oldport. 
He  dared  not  venture  there  in  his  full  uniform 
of  a  captain  in  the  French  navy ;  and  looking 
for  the  bark  which  had  brought  him,  he  could 
nowhere  discover  it. 

"One  thing  only  is  left,"  he  muttered,  —  "to 
go  to  my  mother." 

And  traversing  the  surge-lashed  shore,  along 
the  edge  of  the  water,  he  reached  the  narrow 
path  running  along  the  ledge  of  rocks  — -  then 
that  which  wound  up  the  preipice  to  the  hut  of 
the  recluse. 

No  one  but  a  sailor,  sure-footed  and  aceuB- 
toned  to  work  with  hands  and  feet  in  tte  dark, 
could  have  found  his  way  safely  up  the  dizzy 


240  THE  DEN  OF   7 HE    WOLF. 

path  toward  the  summit.  Mo.'e  than  once  h« 
passed  near  the  very  brink  of  the  precipice  \ 
a  step  out  of  the  pathway,  would  have  hurled 
him  a  thousand  feet  down  into  the  boiling 
abyss.  But  he  went  on  safely.  No  chamois 
could  have  traversed  the  narrow  way  more 
rapidly  and  surely.  Soon  he  reached  the  last 
and  most  dangerous  point ;  passed  it ;  reached 
the  summit,  and  hastened  to  the  hut  of  the 
recluse. 

No  light  was  visible.  The  spot  seemed  de 
serted. 

Earle  struck  the  door  with  his  clenched  hand 
It  flew  open,  but  within  all  was  darkness  and 
silence. 

He  entered.  A  strange  sinking  of  the  heart 
suddenly  assailed  him.  Where  was  his  moth 
er  ?  Why  this  darkness  and  silence,  instead  of 
her  smile  and  warm  greeting  ? 

He  went  toward  the  narrow  bed,  and  felt  for 
his  mother  there.  She  might  be  asleep. 

The  bed  was  vacant.  The  cold  pillow  was 
round  and  impressed. 

She  was  gone  1 

Earle  sat  down,  faint  in  body  and  mind.  A 
sombre  foreboding  siezed  upon  him.  What  wa* 
the  origin  of  this  absence ) 


THE  DEN  OF   THE   WOLF.  241 

Suddenly  he  rose  with  a  hoarse  cry. 

"  That  man  i  —  that  wretch !  He  has  proba 
bly  murdered  her!  He  has  discovered  her! 
He  came  here,  I  no  tf  remember,  in  search  of 
me !  He  sent  to  France  to  steal  that  proof  of 
his  marriage  !  He  has  secured  both  obstacles 
to  his  new  marriage,  —  the  record,  and  the  per 
son  of  the  first  wife  1 " 

Earle  pressed  both  hands  to  his  forehead,  and 
staggered. 

What  should  he  do  2 

"With  weak  and  uncertain  steps,  but  a  will 
excitement  in  his  breast,  he  tottered  out  of  the 
hut,  went  toward  the  precipice,  traversed  the 
dizzy  brink  with  the  instinct  of  a  blind  man,  de 
scended  the  path,  reached  the  shore,  then, 
scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  he  staggered  OD 
toward  the  village. 

All  at  once  there  rose  before  him  in  the  dark 
ness  a  weird-looking  object. 

It  was  the  hull  of  a  wrecked  vessel,  turned 
upward  and  fitted  up  as  a  rude  dwelling.  A 
ray  of  moonlight  as  red  as  blood  enabled  him 
to  make  out  its  surroundings.  These  were  nets, 
an  old  anchor,  a  coi\  of  rope,  and  an  old  buoy. 
The  door  was  a  hole  scarce  large  enough  for  a 
man  to  crawl  into.  It  was  open  now,  and  Earle 


242  THE  DEN  OF    THE   WOLF. 

saw  crouching  over  a  few  embers,  a 
figure. 

Something  in  this  figure  struck  him  as  famil 
iar.  He  tottered  forward  and  looked  in.  The 
figure  raised  its  head.  By  the  glimmer  of  the 
embers  Earle  recognized  Goliath. 

The  next  moment  he  staggered  to  the  door 
way,  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  fell  forward  intc 
the  arms  of  the  chief  of  the  wolves,  who  had 
recognized  him,  and  drew  him  into  his  rude 
dwelling,  radiant  with  joy  at  his  return. 

"  You  be  come  up  out  of  the  foam,  maa'er  I w 

Earle  tried  to  reply,  but  fainted. 


CHAPTER  XT 

KIDNAPPED. 

an  upper  room  of  Westbrooke  Hall, 
difficult  of  access,  and  almost  unsuspect 
ed,  so  carefully  was  it  concealed  by  jut 
ting  gables  and  angles,  sat  the  recluse 
whom  we  left  in  her  hut  on  the  headland,  when 
Earle  set  out  for  Maverick  House. 

Two  days  before,  she  had  been  kidnapped. 
This  was  very  simply  effected.  The  man 
Gubbs,  in  the  absence  of  Wilde,  the  baronet's 
factotum,  undertook  the  affair,  went  thither  af 
ter  midnight,  simply  seized  and  gagged  the  sol 
itary  woman,  forced  her  to  enter  a  light  car 
riage,  and  then  drove  off  swiftly  through  wood 
land  by-roads  to  Westbrooke  Hall,  which  they 
reached  before  daylight 
The  recluse  was  then  conducted  to  the  apart- 

'343) 


244  KIDNAPPED. 

ment  which  we  have  spoken  of  above ;  the  dooi 
was  locked  upon  her ;  she  was  left  to  her  reflec 
tions ;  and,  whilst  still  engaged  in  this  occupa 
tion,  Sir  Murdaugh  had  entered. 

"Welcome  to  Westbrooke  Hall,  your  lady 
ship  ! "  was  his  ironical  greeting.  "  Can  I  do 
aught  to  render  your  sojourn  here  more  agree 
able  ?  If  the  servants  exhibit  any  neglect,  pray 
inform  me  of  the  fact,  Charmed  to  see  you, 
my  dear  madam,  —  really  charmed,  upon  my 
word!" 

The  recluse  looked  at  him  coldly.  There 
was  not  a  particle  of  nervous  trepidation  in  her 
expression. 

"  You  do  not  reply,  my  lady.  Pray  honor 
me  with  a  few  words:  your  voice  invariably 
charms  me." 

"  I  do  not  reply  because  I  havs  jone  to  make, 
sir,"  said  the  woman,  with  entire  calmness. 
"  What  response  is  necessary  to  an  outrage 
like  this?" 

"  An  outrage,  madam  ? " 

"Is  it  not  an  outrage  to  send  a  wretch 
in  your  pay  to  seize  an  unprotected  woman 
and  to  drag  her  off  thus  to  a  place  of  conceal 
ment  ? " 

«*  Well,  it  M  irregular." 


24ft 


The  baronet  grinned  and  was  evidently  en  joy 
ing  himself. 

"Your  object?" 

"  Well,  shall  I  be  frank  with  you,  madam  ?  '' 

"  If  you  can." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  my  first  plan,  or  my 
second  ?  " 

"Speak  I" 

"First,  I  thought  I  would  —  well,  would  — 
murder  you,  my  dear  madam.  That  is  an  ugly 
word,  but  you  may  retort  that  it  suits  me.  Per 
haps  it  does.  I  am  not  a  beauty,  and  my  life, 
tried  by  a  strictly  moral  standard,  may  not  be 
beautiful  morally.  Yesl  I  thought  I  would  get 
rid  of  you." 

"Why  have  you  not  done  so,  then?"  was  the 
cold  inquiry. 

The  baronet's  face  grew  dark. 

"  It  is  not  too  late,"  he  said  in  a  threatening 
tone  ;  "  beware  how  you  defy  me." 

"  Defy  you  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  am  afraid  of 
you?  No!  do  as  you  will.  Yesl  I  do  defy 
you." 

And  the  woman  rose  to  her  full  height. 

"I  never  feared  you,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  with  superb  scorn  in  her  eyes.  "I  fled 
froir  you  to  rescue  a  child  from  your  poisonoui 


246  RtDNAPPED. 

association.  That  child  is  safe  from  you  now 
You  cannot  harm  him,  for  he  knows  you.  AJ 
to  me,  what  care  /,  think  you  ?  Nothing." 

And  she  sat  down  again. 

The  baronet  scowled  at  her  with  sudden 
wrath.  Then  this  changed  to  a  sneer. 

"  Good,  good ! "  he  said ;  "  the  same  spirit  that 
used  to  blaze  out  in  Marianne  Earle,  twenty 
years  ago.  Ah !  you  look  at  me  with  your 
fine  disdain.  You  would  say  that  I  provoked 
you  then.  Well,  so  be  it ;  let  that  go.  I  am 
here  to  speak  of  the  present  and  future  —  yowr 
future.  I  will  do  so  very  briefly,  madam.  I 
brought  you  here  intending  to  get  rid  of  you,  if 
necessary.  It  is  not  necessary.  I  will  simply 
send  you  to  St.  Domingo.  My  good  servitor, 
Wilde,  who  is  known  to  you,  will  accompany 
your  ladyship.  He  is  absent  now  on  important 
business,  but  will  soon  return.  Then  I  will  call 
on  madam  again." 

And  sneering,  he  wen*  out  abruptly. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


MASTER  AND  MAN. 

UGH  were  the  events  which  had  occurred 
during  the  brief  absence  of  Earle  and 
Wilde. 

We  left  the  baronet  and  this  latter 
worthy  in  the  apartment  containing  the  corpse, 
the  eyes  of  Sir  Murdaugh  fixed  joyfully  on  the 
paper  which  Wilde  had  brought  him. 

"At  last  I  have  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "From 
this  moment  I  am  safe." 

Wilde  glanced  sidewise  at  the  man,  Gubbs 
and  the  baronet  nodded. 

"You  can  go  now,"  he  said  to  the  man,  who 
At  once  left  the  apartment. 

"And  now  to  business,  Wilde,"  added  the 
baronet  "Much  has  been  done  in  your  ab- 
rence." 

CM7) 


MASfSR  AHD  AfAff. 


"What,  your  honor?'' 

"  That  woman  is  here,  a  prisoner  in  this  house 
But,  before  I  speak  further  of  this,  tell  me  alj 
about  your  journey." 

"That  I  will  do  in  few  words,  sir." 

And  Wilde  narrated  every  thing,  concluding 
with  the  scene  which  had  occurred  on  the  beach. 

"That  man  is  an  incarnate  devil,"  growled 
the  baronet.  "He  is  ever  on  my  track.  Not 
content  with  denouncing  me  as  a  murderer,  he 
is  now  here  again  to  thwart  and  endanger  me." 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  left  your  honor,"  said 
Wilde  in  a  low  tone. 

The  baronet  looked  at  him  intently. 

"I  understand  you  —  yes,"  he  said. 

Compact  of  murder  was  never  made  more 
clearly  in  fewer  words.  But  the  baronet 
seemed  determined  that  there  should  be  no 
doubt  whatever. 

"  That  man  must  die,  Wilde;  no  runcing  of 
words.  We  have  gone  too  far  to  recede." 

The  words  were  uttered  in  a  whisper. 

"  The  thing  is  plain,  sir,"  was  the  reply  hi  the 
same  tone  ;  "  while  he  is  alive,  you  are  in  dan 
ger,  to  say  nothing  of  me.  I  don't  intend  to 
rest.  Give  your  orders,  sir.  They  shall  V* 
obeyed." 


MASTER  AND  MAM  249 

The  baronet  sat  down,  and  gazed  at  the  floor. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  said  suddenly;  "since 
you  stabbed  him,  he  must  be  near  Oldport. 
"Was  the  wound  dangerous  ? " 

"  Only  in  the  flesh  of  the  arm." 

"  That  is  nothing !  Act  promptly.  Go  and 
look  for  him  to-night!  This  is  all  the  more 
necessary,  as  he  will  come  quickly  to  look  for 
us!" 

"  I  understand,  sir." 

"  She  is  here !  He  will  be  on  our  track, 
since  he  must  suspect  me  of  the  abduction." 

Wilde  buttoned  up  his  wet  coat. 

"  I  will  take  Gubbs,  and  hunt  him  to-night, 
eir." 

"  Do  so,  and  return  before  daylight.  Things 
are  hurrying  in  many  ways,  Wilde.  Listen !  I 
am  to  be  married  in  eight  days.  In  three  days 
that  woman  must  be  out  of  England.  If  in 
twenty-four  hours  he  is  dead  we  are  safe,  and 
you  will  have  earned  one  thousand  pounds.  If 
he  lives  —  the  gallows  — !  I  am  rich  and  in 
fluential,  and  may  escape.  You  are  poor  and 
uobody  —  you  will  hang  !  Go,  now  I  You 
may  find  him  in  some  corner,  fainting  and 
weak  from  loss  of  blood.  You  are  a  man  of 
decision;  you  will  not  neglect  that  chance, 


250 


Go,  go  1  His  death  secures  everything.  Whilst 
he  lives,  —  listen,  Wilde,  —  the  halter  is  around 
your  neck ! " 

"  And  yours ! "  muttered  the  Hercules  as  ha 
hastened  from  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  XTTT. 

A   TIGRESS. 

S  Wilde  disappeared,  the  baronet  fixed 
bis  eyes  with  avidity  upon  the  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"  The  actual  entry  1 "  he  muttered ; 
"  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  to  Marianne  Earle 
Martigny,  April  17 — ,  signed  by  Father  Am 
brose  ;  all  in  due  form  I  Decidedly,  Wilde  is  a 
cool  hand,  and  has  effected  all  I  hoped  foi. 
Now  to  action !  But  first  to  enjoy  my  little 
freat ! " 

He  went  out  quickly,  and  ascending  the 
broad  staircase,  took  a  key  from  his  pocket  and 
opened  a  door.  Before  him,  in  a  bare  apart 
ment,  sat  the  recluse,  pale  but  calm. 

"I  have  come  to  call  on  you,  madam,"  he 
said,  grinning. 


252 


The  recluse  coldly  inclined  her  head. 

"  I  have  an  interesting  communication  to 
make,  madam." 

The  recluse  gazed  at  him  intently,  but  made 
no  reply. 

•'Your  ladyship  is  silent  this  evening,  but 
no  matter.  I  will  talk  myself.  And  first,  I 
beg  to  call  your  ladyship's  attention  to  the 
fact  that  this  is  the  record  of  our  marriage  in 
the  village  of  Martigny  —  brought  for  my 
private  perusal  by  our  mutual  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Wilde." 

The  baror.et  watched  her  closely.  At  these 
words  ahe  turned  suddenly  pale. 

"  Doubtless  a  copy,  sir  !  "  she  said,  coldly, 
but  with  a  sudden,  eager  glance. 

The  baronet  burst  out  laughing.  It  was  a 
sombre  and  ghastly  sound. 

"  A  copy  ?  By  no  means,  madam.  The  orig 
inal  paper  !  I  was  too  intelligent  to  care  for 
a  copy.  I  -vished  to  feast  my  eyes  upon  the 
sole  and  only  evidence  of  our  connubial 
bliss!  What  cared  I  for  a  copy?  What  I 
wanted  was  the  actual  sheet  from  the  record, 
signed  by  the  priest  :  here  it  is  ;  and  from  thii 
moment  there  is  no  proof  whaterer  of  our  mar 
riage." 


A   TIGRESS.  253 

The  recluse  was  pale,  but  her  calmness  had 
returned. 

"  So  you  are  bent  on  destroying  all  proof 
that  I  am  Lady  Westbrooke  ? " 

The  baronet  bowed  and  said  ironically, — 

"  Madam  is  intelligent." 

"  You  design  marrying  again  ? n 

"  I  do,  madam." 

"  To  commit  bigamy  ? " 

"  There  is  no  bigamy  where  proof  does  not 
exist  of  a  former  marriage." 

The  recluse  made  no  reply.  With  her  eyes 
fixed  intently  upon  the  baronet,  she  seemed  to 
listen  coldly. 

"  Why  make  so  much  ado,  my  dear  madam," 
he  said,  with  a  sombre  grin.  "  Are  we  so  much 
devoted  to  each  other  that  we  cannot  bear  to 
ignore  that  former  union  ?  Was  it  of  hearts  — 
or  hands  only  ?  I  think  it  was  merely  the  hand 
Well,  I  count  that  a  sin.  I  design  to  unite  my 
self  now  to  a  young  creature  who  loves  me  ?  " 

No  reply  came  from  the  recluse.  The  bar 
onet  went  on :  — 

"Shall  I  tell  you  of  my  little  affair?  The 
fair  one  is  called  Ellinor  Maverick.  She  is  ex 
ceedingly  handsome  —  much  more  handsome, 
I  must  say,  than  you  ever  were ;  and  she  marriei 


254  A  rrcREss. 

rae  in  defiance  of  the  whole  respectable  Maver 
ick  family." 

The  recluse  had  never  removed  her  eyee 
from  the  face  of  the  baronet. 

"  Does  she  know  that  you  have  one  wife  liv 
ing?"  she  said,  calmly. 

The  words  brought  to  the  baronet's  face  the 
eternal  grin. 

"  I  must  confess  she  does  not,  madam  1 
She  is  a  tender  lamb  led  to  the  slaughter.  I 
am  a  monster,  you  perhaps  think,  and  I  confess 
I  am  not  a  saint.  Bnt  in  this  case  the  lamb  is 
tough  !  Miss  Maverick  weds  me  for  my  estate, 
not  from  the  sympathetic  impulse  of  her  maiden 
heart !  She  calculates  —  she  does  not  gush 
out !  I  am  Sir  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  rather 
than  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke;  and  a  few 
little  charges  which  have  been  brought  against 
me  have  had  no  influence  on  the  sweet  charmer 
—  she  is  still  determined  to  marry  me." 

"And  you  will  ruin  this  young  woman  be 
cause  she  is  worldly  and  ambitious  ? " 

"  Ruin  her,  madam  ?  not  at  all  ?  How  shall 
I  ruin  her  ?  " 

The  recluse  pointed  coldly  toward  the  paper 
in  his  hand. 

a  Still  harping  upon  this  I "  the  baronet  said 


A   TIGRESS.  255 

with  a  grin.  "  I  will  show  you  how  I  remove 
that  little  difficulty  in  the  simplest  manner, 
madain  ? " 

He  caught  the  paper  with  both  hands,  and 
was  about  to  tear  it  in  pieces. 

"  Forbear !  "  cried  the  recluse,  suddenly  ris 
ing  and  confronting  him. 

"  Forbear  what  ? "  he  growled. 

"From  the  commission  of  the  crime  yon 
meditate  !  "  his  companion  said,  with  flushed 
cheeks.  "  It  is  your  soul's  salvation  you  im 
peril  !  I  do  not  speak  of  the  offence  against 
law  !  Think,  unhappy  old  man  !  —  for  you 
are  old  now,  as  I  am,  —  think,  God  has  for- 
oidden  this.  You  sin  wilfully  against  his  com 
mandments  !  Stop  now,  on  the  threshold !  — 
repent !  —  a  poor  sinner  urges  that !  Abandon 
this  scheme !  —  remember  that  your  lawful 
wife  still  lives!  —  Give  me  the  paper!" 

And  before  he  divined  her  intention,  she 
grasped  the  paper  and  tore  it  from  hinc 

The  baronet  uttered  an  enraged  cry  and 
said, — 

"Beware! — give  me  back  that  writing!" 

"  It  is  mine  equally  —  since  it  is  the  record 
of  my  marriage  ! "  she  exclaimed,  recoiling,  and 
thrusting  the  paper  into  her  bosom. 


256  A    T7GXESS. 

"  Give  me  the  writing  !" 

And  he  seized  her  by  tho  wrist,  with  • 
grasp  of  iron. 

"  Release  me,  sir ! " 

"  Give  me  the  paper  I " 

"I  will  not!" 

He  seized  her  by  the  throat. 

"  The  paper  —  or  you  are  dead  ! n 

The  hand  grasped  the  white  throat  more 
furiously. 

a  Kill  me,  then  !  —  you  may  take  it  from  my 
dead  body  —  I  will  never  surrender  it !  " 

He  tore  open  her  dress,  and  drew  the  paper 
from  its  hiding-place. 

"  Coward ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  he  did  so ; 
"  wretch,  to  outrage  me  thus  !  —  to  lay  the 
hand  of  violence  where  you  once  laid  your 
head !  Oh !  I  could  tear  the  very  flesh 
which  was  so  profaned  once !  —  coward  !  " 

And  with  flaming  eyes  she  confronted  him, 
—  eyes  full  of  superb  wrath. 

"  Insult,  outrage,  murder  me  if  you  will  I n 
she  cried,  in  her  rage  and  scorn.  "  There  ii 
one  person  who  is  safe  from  you  —  your 
child !  —  whom  you  aimed  to  murder  1  un 
natural  and  monstrous  I  Of  what  race  do  you 


A    TIGRESS.  257 

come  ?    You  would   slay  your  own   child  I  — 
but  he  at  least  is  safe  from  you  1 " 

The  baronet  had  retreated  a  step  as  she  con 
fronted  him  with  blazing  eyes.  In  spite  of 
himself,  he  shrunk  before  the  scorn  of  hia 
companion.  Now,  however,  his  sneer  returned 

—  the  ghastly  grin  distorted  his  ugly  mouth. 

"  Ah  !  you  think  that  whelp  is  safe,  do  you, 
madam  ?    You   are  mistaken.    Wilde   stabbed 
him  to-night ! " 
.    "  You  lie  —  he  is  in  France !  * 

"  I  do  not  lie,  madam  —  he  is  in  Pem 
brokeshire." 

The  woman  looked  at  him;  as  she  did  BO 
the  flush  died  out  of  her  cheeks. 

"  Where  is  he  ? " 

"  I  will  not  tell  you ! " 

She  trembled. 

"  For  pity's  sake  1  " 

And  suddenly  submissive  she  clasped  hei 
hands. 

"Do  not  harm  him!    He  has  not  wronged 

D 

you !    Why  do  you  thus  hate  him  ? " 
"  Because  he  hates  me,  and  will  destroy  me 

—  if  I  do  not  destroy  him !   Cease  your  prayers, 
then  —  they  are  vain !    His  doom  is  sealed  - 
Wilde  is  now  tracking  him  I  " 

17 


258  A    TIGRESS. 

"  That  wretch  ?  Oh,  it  is  inf auous  !  fit 
will  murder  him !  Let  me  go  and  save  him ! " 

The  baronet  thrust  her  back  Tiolently,  and 
went  toward  the  door. 

"  It  is  too  late !  he  is  doomed !  " 

And  he  reached  the  door  and  opened  it. 

Suddenly  the  woman  threw  herself  upon 
him,  and  seized  his  throat  vdth  both  hands. 

"  Give  me  my  child ! "  she  cried,  with  the 
rage  of  a  tigress  robbed  of  her  young. 

His  reply  was  to  hurl  her  from  •him,  and  she 
fell  at  full  length  on  the  floor.  A  moment 
afterwards  the  baronet  had  passed  through  the 
door  and  closed  and  locked  it. 

As  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  the  door 
shook  under  the  grasp  of  the  poor  mother. 

"  My  child  I  my  child  1  Give  me  my  child  I " 
she  moaned,  shaking  the  door. 

A  laugh  replied ;  and  the  baronet's  footsteps 
receded.  A  moment  afterwards  a  body  fel. 
heavily  in  the  apartment  which  he  had  left 

The  recluse  had  fainted. 


OHAPTEK  XTV. 

THE   INTKUDEB. 

'IE  MUKDAUGH  WESTBROOKE  de- 

scended  to  his  sitting-room. 

The  grin  had  disappeared  from  his 
lips  and  there  was  no  longer  the  former 
expression  of  hideous  triumph  in  his  eyes. 

He  sat  down,  and  gazed  for  fully  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  into  the  fire,  which  was  dying  down 
now. 

"  How  will  this  end  ? "  he  muttered.  "  I  am 
knee-deep  in  blood,  and  am  going  in  waist 
deep!  Am  I  then  a  wretch  unable  to  with 
hold  myself  from  crime?  Why  do  I  venture 
on  this  marriage.  Why  do  I  plan  that  boy's 
destruction?  Is  the  Devil  my  prompter? 
Doubtless,  since  he  has  just  made  me  oute-age 

(259) 


THE    TNTRULER. 

a  woman  —cut  her  to  the  heart  —  mfliot  pel 
sonal  violence  upon  her  1 " 

He  knit  his  brow,  and  his  lips  writhed. 

"  I  am  a  lost  soul,  I  think  1 n 

And  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  She  cowed  me  yonder  to-night  when — yes, 
was  a  coward  to  outrage  that  bosom  I  It  was 
Marianne  Earle's  once — I  loved  her  —  have 
never  loved  any  one  else  I  Yes,  yes,  1  was  a 
coward !  And  I  aim  to  prove  myself  a  worse 
coward  still ! " 

He  looked  at  the  paper  which  he  held  in  his 
hand.  "Marianne  Earle,  Martigny,  April  17, 
,"  seemed  burnt  in  flame  upon  it 

"  She  was  beautiful  then  !  —  the  only  dream 
of  my  life ! "  he  muttered.  I  loved  her  —  could 
have  died  for  her — for  six  months!"  he  added, 
with  a  cruel  sneer. 

And  leaning  against  the  tall  carved  mantel 
piece,  he  pondered,  his  face  gradually  growing 
dark. 

"  No  I  it  is  too  late  to  recede  —  and  to  defy 
that  boy  Arthur  is  delicious  !  This  marriage  is 
necessary  —  it  removes  suspicion  I  It  ties  theii 
hands,  for  I  will  be  the  husband  of  Ellinor  Mav 
erick,  their  own  blood  !  Then  —  then,  with 
this  woman  and  that  other  enemy  gotten  rid  oi 


THE  INTRUDER.  261 

—  with  no  fears  any  longer,  and  the  fuling 
health  of  the  Yiscount  Cecil  tc  count  on  •     ! " 

He  slowly  tore  the  paper  in  pieces  and  threw 
it  into  the  fire. 

"  The  die  is  cast ! "  he  muttered ;  "  my  senti 
mental  mood  is  over !  Sentiment  for  me !  I 
was  an  innocent  man  once,  i  »w  I  am  what  ? 
What  have  I  to  do  with  sentiment  f  Can  the 
wolf  that  is  hunted  find  time  to  snivel  and  wipe 
his  eyes  ?  Away  with  such  imbecility !  I  am 
a  man  again,  and  will  ride  over  all  enemies. 
Aid  me,  Devil !  if  there  be  a  Devil ! " 

And,  with  a  face  distorted  into  a  hideous  grin 
the  baronet  took  from  the  table  the  only  light 
in  the  apartment,  slowly  crossed  the  drawing 
room,  opened  and  passed  through  the  door, 
and  then  his  steps  were  heard  slowly  ascending 
the  staircase. 

Ten  minutes  after  his  disappearance,  a  slight 
sound  might  have  been  heard  at  the  rear  win 
dow. 

This  window  opened,  as  the  reader  will 
remember,  directly  on  the  park ;  and  for  more 
than  a  half  an  hour  a  man  standing  on  the 
ledge  beneath  it  had  been  watching  the  baronet, 
his  eyes  on  a  level  with  the  window-sill. 

As  the  figure  of  the  baronet  disappeared  new, 


262  THE  INTRUDER. 

a  dusky  arm  suddenly  rose  from  without.  A& 
the  arm  rose,  the  moon  came  out,  and  revealed  a 
man's  head  and  shoulders  above  the  sill.  Then 
the  hand  stealthily  passed  through  a  broken 
pane  in  the  window  —  the  bolt  was  silently  shot 
back  —  a  moment  afterwards  the  sash  was 
raised  —  and,  silent  as  a  shadow,  the  man  stood 
in  the  room. 

It  was  the  gypsy :  his  countenance  expressed 
mingled  curiosity  and  apprehension.  The 
swarthy  face  was  plain  in  a  vagrant  gleam  from 
the  dying  fire,  and  toward  the  fire  he  now  moved 
with  a  cautious  and  stealthy  step. 

"  That  paper  1  —  why  did  he  look  at  it  so 
closely  —  and  then  tear  it?"  muttered  the 
gypsy.  "  I  see  it  is  not  burned  —  only  one  of  the 
pieces  is  destroyed ! ' 

He  stooped  and  raised  the  fragments,  joining 
them  together,  and  closely  scanning  them. 

"  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  —  Marianne  Earle  ; 
Martigny.  Why  this  is  a  marriage  record !  "  he 
murmured.  "  And  to  think  that  the  good  Sir 
Murdaugh  has  already  been  married  ! " 

He  looked  again  at  the  paper.  The  name  of 
the  woman  seemed  to  strike  him  for  the  first 
time. 

"Marianne    Earle  1"  he    said,   knitting  hif 


THE  INTRUDER.  263 

brows,  and  evidently  lost  in  reflection,  "  Mari 
anne  Earle!  Earle!  —  there  is  some  mystery 
here!" 

And  his  quick  mind  went  back  to  his  associa 
tion  with  the  sailor.  Twice  he  had  heard  Earle 
repeat  his  own  name,  —  once  when  carrying  off 
the  viscount,  in  reply  to  a  question  from  the 
nobleman,  and  again  during  the  interview  with 
Arthur  Maverick  on  the  night  of  his  escape. 

"  Earle ! "  he  muttered ;  "  this  baronet  married 
Marianne  Earle,  then  !  Who  was  she  ?  was  she 
related  to  him  —  my  brother  of  the  Rommanye 
Rye?" 

His  eyes  distended  suddenly.  The  vaga 
bond's  enormous  acuteness  had  placed  him  on 
the  track  of  the  mystery.  The  woman  on  the 
headland  was  Earle's  mother.  He  had  divined 
that  when  he  went  to  warn  Earle  on  that  last 
night  of  his  stay  in  Pembrokeshire, 

"Aha!  Here  is  something!"  he  muttered. 
"  It  will  pay  better  even  than  my  knowledge  of 
the  murderer  of  Giles  Maverick  !  I  am  lucky  I 
I  came  for  the  baronet's  silver:  I  find  out 
something  far  more  valuable  than  silver,  1 
think." 

And  folding  up  the  pieces  of  paper,  he 
placed  them  carefully  in  his  ragged  pocket. 


264  THE  INTRUDER. 

1  ien  he  looked  around  warily.  There  wai 
no  feilver  of  any  description  visible. 

"  The  skinflint  !  "  he  muttered,  with  a  grim 
ace;  "not  to  leave  a  spoon,  even,  for  a  poor 


"With  stealthy  steps  he  went  toward  the  door 
which  opened  on  the  hall.  Not  a  sound  was 
heard  in  the  funereal  mansion  but  the  measured 
ticking  of  an  enormous  clock,  which  rose,  ghost 
like,  in  the  corner  of  the  hall. 

"  Shall  I  venture  farther  ?  It  is  dangerous, 
but  I  will  try  it.  I  may  find  something,"  he 
muttered. 

The  gypsy  placed  his  foot  upon  the  staircase. 
In  the  darkness  he  had  not  seen  the  door  lead 
ing  into  the  room  containing  the  corpse.  The 
terrible  odfT,  however,  filled  the  air,  and  for  an 
instant  his  heart  failed  him. 

"What  devilish  smell  is  that?"  he  mur 
mured.  '*  I  had  best  get  out  of  this  place." 

He  turned  to  go  back,  but  at  that  moment  a 
stifled  groan  reached  his  ears.  It  died  awav, 
then  was  repetead,  then  died  away  again. 

The  gypsy  was  even  more  curious,  by  nature, 
than  cautious  of  his  personal  safety.  The 
muffled  sounds  roused  hip  curio?'  iy  to  the 
highest  pitch, 


TffE  INTRUDER.  265 

"  Something  horrible  is  going  01  neiti  1 "  lie 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Shall  I  try  to  find  what 
it  means?  I  can  gain  the  window  again  in 
two  minutes,  and  neither  Wilde  nor  his  hounds 
are  here  to  follow  me ! " 

He  placed  his  foot  once  .nore  on  the  stair: 
the  solid  oak  did  not  creak.  The  second  step 
was  as  firm ;  and,  rapid  and  noiseless  as  a  cat, 
the  gypsy  reached  the  second  floor. 

As  he  did  so  the  groans  were  again  heard, 
apparently  from  an  apartment  at  the  end  of  a 
dark  side  passage.  The  moonlight  half-illu 
mined  the  corridor  ;  he  stealthily  glided  toward 
the  sound. 

It  grew  plainer  as  he  advanced.  He  reached 
the  door  from  behind  which  it  issued,  and, 
stooping  down,  applied  his  eye  to  the  keyhole  in 
which  the  key  had  been  left. 

What  he  saw  made  him  hold  his  breath  for 
a  moment. 

A  woman,  clad  in  a  dark  dress,  was  kneeling 
and  praying,  with  clasped  hands,  and  eyes 
raised  to  heaven.  A  ray  of  moonlight  fell 
upon  her  face.  The  gypsy  recognized  the 
mother  of  Earle. 

For  a  moment  his  heart  stood  still.  A  vague 
idea  of  the  truth  came  to  him.  The  woman 


266  THE  INTRUDER. 

was  a  prisoner  —  Earle's  mother.  Was  she  the 
Marianne  Earle  of  the  marriage  record? 

The  gypsy's  face  flushed  hot,  and,  turning  hii 
head,  he  listened.  The  stifled  groans  were  only 
heard  as  the  poor  woman  prayed. 

"Now,  or  never,  if  I  mean  to  act  as  AM 
friend ! "  he  said  to  himself. 

And  silently  unlocking  the  door,  he  stood  be 
fore  the  woman. 

She  uttered  a  low  exclamation,  and  shrunk 
back  as  he  approached. 

"  Hush !  "  he  whispered,  "  I  am  a  friend,  —  I 
will  take  you  to  your  son.  Listen  !  His  name  is 
Edraond  Earle.  It  was  I  who  came  to  warn 
him,  you  remember,  of  the  baronet's  pursuit  of 
him.  I  understand  all.  You  are  a  prisoner 
here.  Come  with  me  and  make  no  noise." 

She  had  listened  with  a  nervous  tremor  in 
her  frame,  but  this  suddenly  ceased. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  feel  that  you  are  a  friend.  Let 
us  hasten  to  leave  this  place." 

"  Come,  then  1 " 

And  the  gypsy  rapidly  led  the  way  from  the 
room  to  the  corridor. 

"  Make  haste  now ! "  he  whispered.  "  The 
baronet  has  not  yet  retired  There  IB  hia  chain- 


THE  INTRUDER.  267 

her.     See  the  glimmer  of  the  light  through  the 
keyhole!" 

Suddenly  the  voice  of  the  baronet  cried,— 

"  Who  is  there  ?     Who  is  stirring  ? " 

"  Eun  !  Make  haste  down  the  stairs ! ' ''  ex 
claimed  the  gypsy. 

And  he  pushed  the  woman  toward  the  stair 
case. 

Her  foot  had  scarce  touched  the  top  step 
when  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke's  door  opened 
violently. 

"  Who  is  there  ? "  he  shouted,  raising  a  heavy 
pistol,  cocked  and  ready. 

The  gypsy's  reply  was  prompt.  He  threw 
himself  upon  the  baronet  and  hurled  him 
back,  knocking  up  the  weapon  just  as  the  re 
port  of  the  pistol  rang  out. 

A  moment  afterwards  he  had  wrenched  it 
from  the  baronet,  and  dealt  him  a  heavy  blow 
m  the  face.  Then  he  gained  the  door  at 
one  bound ;  closed  it  violently  and  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock  ;  hastily  descended  the  stairs  ; 
and  taking  the  woman  by  the  arm,  drew  her 
quickly  to  the  window,  through  which  he  as 
sisted  her  to  pass,  just  as  the  sleepy  and 
frightened  servants  rushed  in  tc  find  the  mean 
ing  of  the  pistol-shot. 


268  TffE  INTRUDER. 

Once  in  the  park,  the  gypsy  cried,  — 

"To  the  woods!  to  the  woods!" 

'•But  my  son!  where  is  my  sonlw 

"  He  is  in  France." 

"  God  be  thanked  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Then 
that  wretch  wilfully  lied  1  He  w  safe!  Ther 
all  is  well." 

And  she  followed  the  gypsy,  who  hastened 
on. 

In  ten  minutes  the  shadows  of  the  forest 
had  swallowed  the  two  figures. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE   RIFLED   GRAVE. 

|E  left  Earle  in  the  den  of  the  chief  of 
the  wolves. 

"You  be  come  up  out  of  the  foara, 
master ! "  the  gigantic  Goliath  had  ex 
claimed  ;  whereupon,  overcome  by  weakness 
from  the  wound  in  his  arm,  and  exhaustion, 
Earle  had  fainted. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  tne  giant  was 
bending  over  and  bandaging  his  arm.  He 
performed  this  office  with  rough  tenderness, 
and  as  the  young  man  looked  Tip,  said,  in  gnt- 
tural  tones, — 

"You  be  safe  here,  master  1 " 
"  Ah ! "  murmured  Earle. 
"You  te  French  —  the  flag  you  run    out 
wnen  they  fired  on  you  told  that ;  but  French 

(269) 


270  THE.   RIFLED   GRAVE. 

or  no  French,  you  be  a  wolf,  and  you  be  salt 
here." 

Earle  quietly  extended  his  hand  and  grasped 
the  huge  paw  of  the  wolf. 

"  Thanks !  "  he  said.  "  Yes,  I  need  a  refuge, 
and  your  help  1 n 

«  My  help?" 

"The  help  of  the  wolves,  perchance  —  the 
whole  fraternity.  I  will  tell  you  more  of  that." 

And  rising  slowly  to  his  feet,  he  looked 
through  the  low  port-hole  serving  as  a  window, 
and  said,  — 

"  Is  it  near  daylight,  brother  ? " 

The  reply  of  the  wolf  was,  that  it  was  scarce 
midnight. 

"  Then  I  will  sleep :  wake  me  at  daylight ! " 
said  Earle. 

And  stretching  himself  before  the  fire,  he 
fell  asleep  almost  instantly. 

The  giant  gazed  at  him  for  some  moments 
with  a  strange  expression  of  solicitude  on  his 
face;  sat  down  on  a  rough  stool,  having  first 
hung  an  old  blanket  before  the  door;  and 
soon  the  nods  of  his  huge  head  indicated  that 
he  too  slumbered. 

It  was  long  hours  after  midnight,  when  all 
at  ooce  the  gigantic  Goliath  stirred  and  nmt- 


THE  RIFLED    1RAVE.  271 

in  his  sleep.  The  vague  sense  ctf  im 
pending  peril  seemed  to  render  him  uneasy. 

Suddenly  the  influence  appeared  to  master 
him,  and  he  lose  quickly,  and  went  to  the  door. 

As  he  did  so,  two  shadows  which  had  hov 
ered  near  the  port-hole  window,  shrunk  back 
into  the  darkness  behind  the  overturned  hull, 
and  all  was  quiet. 

Goliath  muttered  some  guttural  words,  shook 
his  head,  and  returned  to  his  stool.  With  a 
glance  at  Earle,  on  whose  face  the  glimmering 
light  of  the  embers  fell,  he  kicked  the  brands 
together,  wrapped  an  old  pea-jacket  around 
him,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  nodding,  sound 
asleep,  beside  his  companion. 

For  half  an  hour  nearly,  the  silence  remained 
unbroken  save  by  the  whistle  of  the  wind, 
and  the  long  roll  of  the  surf,  falling  with 
monotonous  beat  upon  the  sands.  Then  cautious 
steps  might  have  been  heard —  two  figures  em 
erged  from  the  shadows  of  the  hull,  and  one  of 
these  figures,  placir  g  his  eye  at  a  crevice,  mat 
tered, — 

"  It  is  our  man ! " 

For  more  than  a  minute  he  remained  silent 
and  motionless,  with  his  hand  extended  warn? 
ingly  toward  his  companion  behind  him. 


272  THE   kit  LED   GRAVE. 

Then  he  drew  a  pistol  from  his  breast,  an-d 
directed  the  muzzle  toward  Earle. 

His  companion  pulled  him  back  almost  vi«> 
lently. 

"  You  will  get  yourself  and  me  killed  1 n  he 
said,  in  a  hurried  whisper. 

"  Killed  ? "  said  the  man,  impatiently. 

"  The  wolves  will  swarm  at  the  sound  of 
your  shot  1 " 

And  Gubbs — for  it  was  that  worthy — looked 
at  Wilde  with  horror-struck  eyes. 

"You  don't  know  'em — the  wolves,"  added 
Gubbs,  in  the  same  hurried  whisper.  "  They 
sleep  with  one  eye  open ;  and  this  man  is  one 
of  them,  you  know,  "Wilde." 

"  Yes,  curse  him ! "  growled  Wilde,  lowering 
his  pistol,  "  you  are  right." 

Goliath  started  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  swear  I  heard  something,"  he  cried,  draw 
ing  a  long  knife. 

The  movement  was  followed  by  the  mmis- 
takable  sound  of  steps  retreating  rapidly.  Go 
liath  rushed  from  the  hut ;  but  only  in  time  to 
see  two  shadows  disappear  behind  some  bushes. 

He  darted  on  their  track ;  reached  the  bushes, 
and  stopped  to  listen  for  a  moment  —  not  a 
sound.  The  mysterious  figures  had  vanished, 


THE  RIFLED   GRAVE.  273 

and  with  muttered  imprecations  Goliath  turned 
back. 

He  saw  Earle  coming  to  meet  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  brother  ? "  said  the  sail  jr. 

In  a  few  words,  Goliath  informed  him  of  this 
incident 

Earle  reflected  with  a  knit  brow,  for  an  in 
stant. 

"  Those  men  were  sent  here  to  murder  me, 
brother,"  he  said,  "  but  their  hearts  failed  them ; 
we  are  safe  at  present.  Now  for  other  matters. 
Is  it  near  day  2  " 

The  giant  pointed  to  a  yellow  streak  in  the 
east. 

Earle  nodded. 

"  Come,  then,  brother.  A  sailor's  first  thought 
is  of  his  craft.  I  wish  to  mount  that  height 
yonder,  and  look  out  for  the  sail-boat  that 
brought  me  last  night." 

"  Eight,  master  1  You  be  a  sailor  true.  If 
she  be  wrecked  — " 

"I  shall  see  her.  If  she  rode  through  the 
storm,  I  shall  see  her.' 

And  he  led  the  way  toward  the  height. 

"  When  that  is  done,  we  will  talk,  brother," 
he  said,  walking  slowly  and  painfully.    " 
we  mount  1  we  will  §oon  arrive, 
18 


27*  THE  RIFLED   GRAVE. 

And  he  went  on,  followed  by  Goliath,  and 
finally  reached  the  summit  of  the  height. 

It  was  the  wild  and  lonely  spot  used  as  a 
place  of  sepulture  for  the  dead  wolves.  The 
/ough  wall  of  piled-up  rock  was  clearly  seen  in 
the  gray  light  of  dawn ;  and  mounting  to  tho 
top,  Earle  gazed  out  on  the  channel,  from  which 
the  mists  were  slowly  rising.  As  he  did  so,  the 
sun  rose,  and  the  curtain  of  vapor  was  swept 
away  as  if  by  enchantment. 

The  sailor  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Look !  there  she  is,  brother ;  she  is  making 
for  the  coast  of  France." 

In  fact  the  sail-boat,  which  had  brought 
Earle,  known  easily  by  her  peculiar  rigging, 
was  seen  scudding  before  a  fresh  breeze  in  the 
offing,  toward  the  south. 

The  gigantic  Goliath  had  heard  the  excla 
mation  of  his  companion,  but  had  made  no 
reply. 

Earle  looked  round.  Goliath  was  crouching 
over  the  rifled  grave  of  the  wolf  whom  he  bad 
assisted  in  btirying. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  brother  ? "  said  Earle. 

Gc-liath  uttered  the  growl  of  a  wild  animal, 
ana  seized  a  board  which  protruded  from  the 
hastily  filled  grave. 


THE  RIFLED   GRAVE.  275 

"  This  be  the  matter,  master,"  he  muttered  in 
a  low  and  fierce  tone. 

And  exerting  his  herculean  strength,  he 
dragged  the  entire  end  of  the  coffin  from  the 
grave.  It  was  empty. 

"  Look !  "  said  the  wolf.  "  We  buried  him, 
and  his  grave  be  robbed." 

As  he  spoke,  he  bounded  toward  the  wall 
A  part  of  the  shroud  had  been  torn  torn  off  by 
a  sharp  fragment. 

"  They  went  this  way,"  he  growled. 

And  following  the  foot-prints  rapidly,  he 
reached  the  spot  where  the  wagon  had  waited. 
Here  the  footprints  stopped,  and  nothing  was 
left  but  to  follow  the  marks  of  the  wheels,  and 
the  horse's  feet. 

These  led  towards  "Westbrooke  Hall,  and  Go 
liath  was  about  to  hasten  in  the  direction  thua 
indicated,  when  the  hand  of  Earle  was  laid  on 
his  shoulder,  and  the  sailor  said,  — 

"  A  moment,  brother." 

The  giant  turned  impatiently. 

"  I  be  on  the  track  —  woe,  to  the  man 
disturbed  a  wolf." 

"  I  can  help  you,"  said  Earle. 

"You,  master?" 

41  By  leading  you  to  the  body." 


276  THE  RIFLED   GRAVE. 

"You?" 

"  My  interest  is  to  do  so.     I  myself  need  the 
help  of  the  wolves." 
"For  what,  master?" 
"  To    attack   Westbrooke    Hall,  where    mv 

• 

mother  is  a  prisoner ;  to  release  her  at  the  same 
moment  when  you  recapture  our  dead  brother^ 
body." 

The  wolf  started  back,  in  astonishment. 

"  At  "Westbrooke  Hall  ? "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes !  —  my  mother,  and  all  that  is  left  of 
our  dead  brother,  who  has  been  carried  off ! 
Come,  no  time  is  to  be  lost !  I  am  a  wolf !  — 
I  make  the  signal! — to  my  help,  wolves  1  to  my 
help!" 

"  That  is  enough,  master  1 " 

And  they  hurried  down  the  steep  pathway, 
toward  the  haunts  of  the  wolves. 


CTTAPTEE  XVL 

THE  ATTACK  OF  THE  WOLVES. 

T  an  hour  past  noon  on  the  same  day 
which  witnessed  the  discovery  of  the 
rifled  grave,  a  singular  scene  took  place 
at  Westbrooke  Hall. 
Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  was  pacing  up 
and  down  his  library,  with  hurried  steps,  —  his 
face  bruised,  and  swollen,  his  eyes  glaring  with 
rage,  when  suddenly  there  came  to  his  ears  a 
strange  sound  from  the  park  without,  —  the 
sound  of  furious  shouts,  hurrying  feet,  and  that 
muffled  and  threatening  hum,  which  rises  from 
a  mass  of  men  bent  upon  mischief. 

At  that  sound,  the  baronet  suddenly  stopped, 
and  turned  his  head. 

"What  is  that?"    he  muttered,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  rage  and  apprehension  mingled. 

(277) 


2t3 


He  hastened  to  the  windcw.  The  spectacle 
which  saluted  him  made  him  recoil. 

In  front  of  the  hall  was  a  confused  and 
furiotws  crowd  of  outlandish  figures,  —  ragged, 
with  glaring  eyes,  fierce  grins,  brandished  arms, 
—  who  were  hurrying  towards  the  great  door, 
shouting  ferociously  as  they  came  ;  and  in  front 
•of  them,  beside  the  enormous  Goliath,  who  led 
the  attack,  the  baronet  recognized  the  pale  face 
of  Earle,  who  wore  his  full  uniform. 

"What  devil  has  brought  these  wretches  to 
attack  and  perhaps  sack  my  house  ?  "  cried  the 
baronet. 

Suddenly  his  face  grew  pale. 

"  Has  she  found  him  and  told  him  all,  and 
has  he  come  to  murder  me  ?  " 

He  rushed  to  the  door,  and  violently  called 
out,  — 

"Wilde!" 

The  man  had  his  hand  on  the  door  as  the 
baronet  opened  it.  He  was  trembling. 

"Mount  and  ride  to  the  revenue  station, 
Wilde  !  Say  I  am  attacked  by  these  assassins  — 
the  wolves  I  Kill  my  best  horse,  if  neccessary  1 
Kide,  and  come  back  with  the  guard  at  a 
gallop  1  " 

ran  from  the  library,  and  disappeared 


ATTACK  OF  TffE   WOLVES.  279 

at  a  side  door.  The  baronet  hastened  to  the 
front  door  of  the  mansion,  where  a  loud  knock 
ing  was  heard. 

"  Open  1 "  cried  twenty  voices. 

And  the  door  shook  under  the  pressure  of 
huge  shoulders. 

The  baronet  replied  by  drawing  a  massive 
chain  across  the  door,  and  dropping  a  heavy  bar. 
The  door  was  already  locked  —  it  was  thus 
triply  guarded. 

"  Open ! "  howled  the  wolves. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  cried  the  baronet. 

"  Open  the  door !  or  —  " 

A  tremendous  rush  was  made  at  the  oak. 

"  I  warn  you  to  desist !  "  shouted  the  bar 
onet,  in  a  hoarse  and  trembling  voice.  "  Who 
comes  to  invade  the  privacy  —  and  violate 
the  —  " 

A  howl  drowned  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 

"  I  am  a  magistrate  I " 

«  Open ! " 

"  This  is  a  felony !  " 

The  door  cracked. 

"I  have  sent  for  the  revenue  guard.  Be 
ware  1  Disperse,  before  they  charge  and  fire 
«n  yon  1  '* 

As  he  spoke,  the  wolves,  ID  one  huge  mass 


ATTACK  OF  THE   WOLVES. 


of  shoulders,  backs,  and  arms,  r ashed  aga.'nst 
the  door. 

It  gave  way,  the  bar  snapped,  the  chain  was 
torn  from  its  fastenings,  the  lock  was  shattered ; 
in  a  moment  the  wolves  had  poured  in,  irresist 
ible  as  a  surge  of  the  ocean,  and  furious  voices 
shouted, — 

"Our  brother,  where  is  the  wolf,  oui 
brother  1" 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke,  staggered  back, 
as  pale  as  death  and  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"The  meaning  of  this  violence?"  he  mut 
tered.  "  Who  is  your  brother  \  n 

A  howl  answered  him. 

He  looked  round,  expecting  every  moment  to 
be  torn  to  pieces.  His  eye  fell  upon  Earle, 
who,  pale  and  still,  was  looking  at  him. 

"You  too!"  gasped  the  baronet,  —  "what 
brings  you  f  " 

"  Where  is  my  mother  ?  " 

The  baronet  grew  livid,  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Where  is  my  mother,  and  the  record  of  her 
marriage  which  you  had  stolen  at  Martigny  ?" 

The  young  man's  face  suddenly  flushed 
Rage  was  gaining  the  mastery  with  him. 

*  I  know  nothing  of  her,  or  the  record  1 " 

Earle's  teeth  were  heard  grinding  together 


ATTACK  off  TffE  WOLVES.         281 

"  Where  is  my  mother,  and  that  papei  ? "  he 
exclaimed,  advancing  as  though  about  to  throttle 
the  baronet.  "  Answer !  Dare  to  trifle  with  me, 
and,  by  heaven!  though  you  be  my  father,  I 
will  slay  you  as  I  would  slay  a  venemous  rep 
tile!" 

The  baronet  shrunk  back,  pale  and  trembling. 

At  the  same  instant,  a  tremendous  shout  was 
heard.  It  issued  from  the  side  apartment, 
where  the  wolves  had  discovered  the  corpse, 
and  they  were  seen  now,  pouring  out,  the 
corpse,  in  its  shroud,  borne  on  their  brawny 
shoulders. 

"  Death  !  death !  "  they  cried  hoarsely. 

And  they  rushed  on  the  baronet. 

As  he  staggered  back,  a  loud  shout  was  heard 
without,  and  the  clash  of  hooves. 

"  They  are  coming  !  if  I  can  gain  a  few  inm 
ates  !  "  muttered  the  baronet,  as  pale  as  death. 

And  recoiling  from  the  mad  crowd,  — 

"  Beware  how  you  outrage  a  magistrate  1 "  he 
gasped. 

The  hoof-strokes  came  on  like  thunder,  and 
men  were  heard  leaping  to  the  ground. 

"  Wilde  has  met  a  party  going  the  rounds , 
I  am  saved  !  " 

And  the  baronet  broke  from  his  enemies. 


282 


A r TACK-  Of  THE 


As  he  did  so,  a  party  of  the  revenue  guard 
entered  the  great  doorway,  with  drawn  pistols. 
At  their  head,  tall  and  commanding,  advanced 
the  Viscount  Cecil. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 


THE  NEWS  FBOM  FRANCE. 

'HE  viscount  entered  the  hall  slowly,  and 
his  calm  eyes  surveyed  the  confused  mass 
of  wolves,  without  apparent  emotion. 
2*3  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  out 
rage  ? "  he  said ;  "  and  that  corpse  there  —  what 
does  this  mean  ? " 

The  baronet  hastened  toward  his  kinsman. 
"  It  means  that  I  am  attacked  and  outraged, 
is  you  were  here,  once ;  and  that  wretch  takes 
part  again  in  the  attack." 

The  viscount  turned  suddenly;  at  sight  of 
Earle  he  could  not  conceal  his  surprise. 

"  You,  sir ! "  he  said  ;  "  is  it  possible  that  you 
are  here  and  thus  engaged  ? " 

"  It  is  possible,  my  lord,  since  yon  see  me," 
returned  Earle,  in  a  gloomy  voice ;  "  and  as  to 


284  THE  NEWS  FROM  FRANCS. 

my  errand,  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it  —  a  mattei 
I  will  explain  to  your  lordship." 

"  It  is  well,  sir,"  returned  the  viscount,  in  a 
freezing  tone.  "Wonders  never  are  to  cease, 
then ;  and  life  is  a  play  !  I  leave  you  in  France, 
and  come  to  England  ;  am  riding  out,  and  meet 
a  guard  going  to  protect  this  gentleman,  and 
take  command  of  it ;  I  reach  the  scene  of  the 
outrage,  and  lo !  —  th^  Baron  Delamere  com 
mands  the  insurgents  —  the  terrible  mob ! " 

There  was  an  imperceptible  shade  of  irony, 
in  the  nobleman's  tones.  One  thing  at  least  was 
plain  —  the  outrage  to  the  baronet  did  not  vio 
lently  enrage  him. 

"  And  now  a  truce  to  all  this,"  he  said.  "  The 
cause  of  this  outbreak?  Why  are  these  men 
here?" 

"  I  will  explain  in  one  word,  my  lord  1 "  said 
Earle. 

And  he  narrated  every  thing,  connected  with 
the  robbery  of  the  grave. 

"  Your  lordship  understands  now,"  Le  added, 
"  why  these  men  are  enraged.  Sir  Murdaugh 
Westbrooke  has  violated  one  of  their  most 
deeply  rooted  prejudices.  They  look  npon  one 
of  their  fraternity,  when  dead,  as  sacred.  Sir 
Murdaugh  Westbrooke  has  violated  the  grav« 


THE  NEWS  FROM  FRANCE.  284 

j>i  one  of  them,  and  the  wolves  rescue  their  dead 
brother,  my  lord  ! " 

The  viscount  coldly  inclined  his  head. 

"  And  the  wolves  are  right ! "  he  replied. 

He  turned  round  to  the  guard. 
.    "  Put  up  your  weapons,   and  mount    yotu 
horses." 

Then  turning  to  the  wolves,  — 

"  Go  home  with  your  dead  brother,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  me,  and  will  not  disobey  me.  Re- 
bury  that  body.  If  I  have  power  in  Pembroke 
shire,  no  others  shall  be  thus  outraged." 

A  hoarse  murmur  rose  from  the  wolves ;  but 
it  was  plain  that  they  did  not  design  resistance. 
In  fact  the  Yiscount  Cecil  was  as  popular  with 
them  as  Sir  Murdaugh  was  unpopular ;  and  at 
the  word  of  the  high  dignitary  and  manorial 
lord  they  bowed  their  heads  in  submission. 

Goliath  went  out  first,  and  as  he  passed  before 
the  viscc  unt,  doffed  his  seal-skin  cap,  and  said, — 

"  You  be  right,  my  lord." 

"  Go,  and  cease  these  outrages,  Goliath.  You 
are  the  master ! " 

Goliath  went  out,  overwhelmed  with  pride  at 
this  recognition. 

"  Come  on,  there  I "  he  growled  to  the  fierce 
water-dogs,  \vho  were  muttering  hoarsely. 


288  THE  N£WS  FROM  FRANCE. 

At  the  word  from  their  chief,  they  moved  to 
ward  the  door.  On  their  shoulders  they  bore  the 
corpse,  and  as  the  heavy  feet  struck  the  floor, 
the  monotonous  chant  of  the  burial  service  rose. 

Then  the  wolves,  no  longer  a  mob,  but  in  BO!- 
emn  procession,  left  Westbrooke  Hall. 

Earle  alone  remained;  his  arms  folded,  his 
face  pale  and  stern.  He  was  clad  in  his  full 
uniform,  and  as  the  baronet  glanced  at  it,  his 
swollen  face  was  full  of  satisfaction. 

"  Well,  the  insurrection  is  quelled ;  the  mob 
has  dispersed  ! "  said  the  Viscount  Cecil,  with 
covert  irony.  "  Pray  what  do  you  propose  fur 
ther,  my  good  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  ? " 

The  baronet  bounded  with  rage  nearly,  at  the 
ill-suppressed  satire  of  the  speaker's  tones. 

**  I  propose  to  arrest  this  person  as  a  French 
spy,  and  have  him  hanged !  "  he  shouted. 

"Arrest  whom?" 

"  That  wretch !  " 

And  he  pointed  with  a  furious  gesture  at 
Earle. 

"Ahl  The  Baron  Delamere!  And  as  a 
French  spy,  do  you  say  ?" 

"As  a  spy  !  whoever  he  may  be." 

"  You  cannot,  my  dear  Sir  Murdaogh  West- 
bwoke." 


THE  NEWS  FROM  FRANCE,  287 

"Cannot?" 

"  For  the  very  simplest  reason  in  the  world. 
Spies  ply  their  trade  only  when  two  countries 
are  at  war.  Now  France  and  England  have 
agreed  on  the  preliminaries  of  a  treaty  of  peace, 
hostilities  are  at  an  end  ;  and  Monsieur  le  Baron 
Delamere,  there,  is  on  a  visit  simply  to  Wales." 

He  turned  and  bowed  to  Earle. 

"  When  in  France,  I  offered  you  the  hospital 
ities  of  Wentworth  Castle,  Monsieur  le  Baron," 
he  said :  "  I  beg  you  will  do  me  the  honor,  now, 
to  accept  them." 

Earle  bowed  low,  but  shook  his  head.  His 
lips  moved;  he  seemed  vainly  attempting  to 


"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  exclaimed  the  vis 
count,  for  the  young  man  had  grown  suddenly 
white. 

"  Thanks,  my  lord,"  came  from  the  sailor,  in 
a  low  weak  voice;  "but  I  came  hither  to — I 
must  —  " 

He  tottered. 

The  viscount  hastened  to  him,  and  caught  him 
as  he  was  falling. 

"  My  mother  1    That  paper  1 " 

And  letting  his  head  fall  on  his  shoulder,  suf • 
fused  with  blood,  Earle  lost  consciousness. 


588  THE  NEW1>   FROM  FRANCE. 

Fifteen  minutes  afterwards  he  was  in  the 
Viscount  Cesil's  chariot,  which  was  rolling 
towards  Wentworth  Castle.  The  viscount  had 
been  riding  out  in  it,  when  he  met  the  party  of 
guards,  and  had  directed  it  to  follow;  he  him 
self  mounting  the  horse  of  one  of  his  outriders. 

As  Earle  fainted,  he  bore  him  out.  They  en 
tered  the  chariot,  and  it  went  on  its  way. 

Between  the  viscount  and  the  baronet  not  • 
lingle  word  had  been  exchanged. 

So  the  strange  scene  ended. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 


THE   CRISIS. 

O  sooner  had  the  chariot  disappeared  with 
the  viscount  and  Earle,  than  Sir  Mur- 
daugh  Westbrooke  fell  into  a  chair,  and 
called,  in  a  hoarse  and  broken  voice,  — 
"  Wilde  1 " 

The  Hercules  hastened  to  his  master.  He  had 
kept  in  the  background  hitherto,  but  now  ap 
peared,  like  a  bird  of  ill-omen  swooping  down 
on  the  field  of  conflict  after  the  departure  of  the 
combatants. 

"Wilde!"  the  baronet  exclaimed,  "we  must 
go  to  flrork;  not  a  moment  must  be  lost  now. 
Where  is  that  woman  ? v 

"  She  must  be  in  the  woods  somewhere,  with 
that  gypsy  rascal,  your  honor,"  growled  the 
Hercules. 

19  (8») 


990  THE   CRISIS. 

"Search  for  her  instantly,  with  Gnbbs;  she 
must  be  recaptured  before  she  gives  the  alarm." 

"  Yes,  your  honor." 

"  Then  to  work ;  all  is  ready.  In  your  absence 
every  arrangement  has  been  mfide.  At  the  port 
of  Roche,  two  or  three  leagues  down  the  coast, 
the  bark  Fly-by-Night  is  moored,  and  the  captain 
is  in  my  pay..  He  will  sail  for  St.  Domingo,  aa 
soon  as  his  passenger  arri  ves.  You  understand  ? 
He  is  paid  five  hundred  pounds  to  conduct  a 
mad  woman  to  St.  Domingo.  The  money  will 
close  his  ears,  her  ravings  will  pass  unheeded. 
You  will  go  with  her,  and  see  her  beyond  seas, 
when  you  will  return  and  make  your  report  to 
me.  A  thousand  pounds  will  await  you.  Do 
you  understand  all  now  ? " 

"Wilde  flushed  with  joy  and  cupidity. 

"  Yes,  your  honor ;  at  your  honor's  orders." 

"But  first  to  find  her!  to  find  herl  That 
cursed  gypsy  has  overturned  all  my  plans.  Two 
things  are  necessary  low,  Wilde  •  let  me  talk 
plainly ;  no  ceremony  is  necessary  with  you.  In 
a  few  days  I  am  to  be  married,  but  before  that 
day  tw^  things  must  be  accomplished.  This 
woman  must  be  out  of  the  country,  and  that 
man  Earle  must  be — " 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  Wilde  significantly 


THE   CRISIS.  991 

The  eyes  of  master  and  man  met.  Their 
glances  were  dark  and  meaning. 

"  Yes,  your  honor." 

"  He  knows  all ;  can  send  me  and  you  to  the 
gallows.  She  is  the  other  obstacle  :  she  can  in 
terpose,  and  forbid  the  bans  on  my  marriage 
day.  One  course  only  is  left.  She  must  be 
sent  away,  and  he  —  well,  one  thing  only  w.U 
silence  him? 

And  in  a  low  voice  he  added,  — 

"  You  understand '( " 

"  I  understand,"  growled  Wilde.  "  The  woman 
first ;  that  is  the  pressing  thing." 

"  Yes :  go,  now.  Take  the  wagon.  Find  her, 
and  send  her  to  the  ship  with  Gubbs.  Then  re 
turn  here ;  I  will  give  you  my  further  orders." 

Wilde  grunted  obedience  and  hurried  from 
the  room. 

"Things  are  hastening,"  muttered  the  bar 
onet,  "and  all  depends  on  prompt  action.  That 
cursed  dead  body  that  brought  about  all  this 
discovery,  that  led  the  wolves  to  attack  me,  and 
brought  the  viscount  here,  —  would  it  had  been 
sunk  fathoms  deep  in  the  waters  of  the  channel, 
ere  I  meddled  with  it.  And  then  thf  3  cut  ?  la 
there  no  danger? " 

He  looked  at  his  hand,  punctured  b}  the  knife 


292  THE  CRISIS. 

during  the  process  of  dissection.  It  was  swollen 
and  he  had  bandaged  it  careful!}. 

"  No :  it  is  a  trifle.  I  have  more  important 
matters  to  think  of,"  he  said. 

And  rising,  he  paced  to  and  fro,  his  browa 
knit,  his  lips  muttering. 

"Well,  all  is  touch  and  go  now.  A  short 
time  will  decide  all.  If  I  can  get  her  out  of 
the  country,  and  close  his  lips  forever,  then 
safety,  security,  a  bonny  bride,  and  triumph 
over  my  enemies.  If  I  fail  —  but  I'll  not  think 
of  that ;  the  thought  is  too  horrible  1  Now  to 
make  my  toilet  carefully  and  repair  to  lady 
Worsham's.  There  my  beautiful  young  bride 
awaits  impatiently  her  devoted  lover." 

A  sneer  passed  over  his  lips,  and  the  yellow 
tusks  were  thrust  out. 

A  moment  afterwards  he  had  le't  the  apa  t- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   PATH   TO   WENTWOETH   CASTLE 

#HE  chariot  containing  Earle  and  the  ~\  & 
count  rolled  on  toward  Wentworth  Cas 
tle,  a  great  feudal  pile  crowning  an  emi 
nence  above  the  channel,  a  few  miles 
c«outh  of  Oldport. 

The  scene  through  which  they  passed  waa 
wild  and  full  of  majestic  beauty.  Dense  forests 
covered  the  slopes  of  the  great  headlands  to  the 
right,  and  from  the  wall  of  dark  evergreens  on 
their  left  issued  a  mountain  torrent,  which 
rushed  with  a  sound  like  thunder  beneath  a 
stone  bridge  which  spanned  the  gulf  beneath. 

As  the  chariot  reached  this  point,  the  castle 
was  Been  near  at  hand,  raising  its  mighty  walls 
above  the  foliage  of  its  oaks.  It  was  one  of 
these  old  feudal  piles  like  Caernarvon  or  Dal- 


2P4        PATH  TO  WENTWORTH  CASTLE. 

bardon,  which  render  Wales  so  attractive  in  tl.e 
eyes  of  the  historical  antiquary.  All  around  it 
brought  back  the  past  and  excited  the  imagina 
tion.  Even  weak  and  burnt  up  with  fever  as  he 
was,  Earle  seemed  deeply  impressed  with  the 
scene. 

"  I  see  you  are  struck  with  my  old  castle,r 
said  the  viscount ;  "  and  it  is  a  true  relic  of  an 
tiquity.  Edward  I.  spent  a  night  here,  and  hip 
son,  Edward  II.,  came  near  being  born  here  in 
stead  of  at  Caernarvon.  Even  this  stone  bridge 
over  the  torrent  dates  back  two  hundred  years." 

Earl  murmured  something  that  was  inaudi 
ble. 

The  viscount  gazed  at  his  pale  face  with  at 
tention.  The  dreamy  eyes  of  the  young  man 
surveyed  the  bridge,  the  torrent,  a  path  leading 
to  it  from  the  forest,  and  suddenly  he  said,  in  a 
ow  voice,  with  a  strange  and  startled  look,  — 

"  I  have  been  here  before  ! " 

The  baronet  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  You  ?  Well  that  is  possible,  sir.  But  doubt 
less  you  recall  the  occasion  ? " 

"  I  do  not,"  murmured  Earle ;  "  it  is  strange. 
But  all  is  familiar  to  me." 

He  gazed  around  him  with  profound  ast<  nish- 
ment  depicted  upon  his  flushed  face. 


fATti  TO  WEXTWOk  7.  t  CASTLE.        25?$ 

"  That  path  !  I  know  that  path.  Stay,  my 
lord :  there  is  a  stone  cross  in  the  wood  yonder." 

And  he  pointed  up  the  steep  path. 

"  True!  What  does  this  mean?"  muttered  the 
viscount. 

"I  know  not,  my  lord." 

"  There  is  the  cross  1  See,  through  the  foil 
age.  It  is  built  above  a  well  in  the  forest." 

"The  Hart's  Well?" 

The  nobleman  started. 

"  You  astound  me  !  Then  you  have  really 
been  here  in  the  grounds  of  Weutworth  Castle?" 

"  I  know  not.  I  am  in  a  dream,"  murmured 
Earle.  "  Is  there  a  previous  existence  ?  I  do 
not  believe  it ;  but  all  here  is  familiar.  I  seem 
to  have  traversed  that  path  but  yesterday,  and 
to  have  heard  some  one  utter  that  name — the 
'  Hart's  Well.' " 

He  stopped,  looking  with  amazement  around 
him. 

"  Let  us  alight,  if  it  please  you,  my  lord." 

"Alight?" 

"  I  would  ascend  that  path,  and  approach  the 
figure  in  stone  of  an  armed  knight  through  the 
iouble  row  of  evergreens ! " 

The  viscount  gazed  at  the  speaker  with  un 
bounded  astonishment. 


296      PATH  TO  WENTWORTH  CASTLS. 

"The  stone  figure  of  the  armed  krightl  die 
double  row  of  evergreens !"  he  said,  —  "  then  you 
have  visited  my  house  before.  What  mystery 
is  concealed  under  all  this,  sir  ? " 

The  nobleman's  tones  had  grown  cold  and 
formal.  Was  this  unknown  Frenchman  some 
charlatan,  then  ?  Had  he  acted  a  part  in  pre 
tending  that  he  had  never  visited  Pembroke 
shire  before  this  autumn  ? 

"  Truly,  something  deeply  mysterious,  to  my 
self,  at  least,  is  under  this  strange  recognition," 
murmured  Earle ;  "  but  will  your  lordship  per 
mit  me  to  walk  ?  I  am  strong  enough,  I  think. 
If  my  strength  fails  me,  I  will  sit  down  and  rest 
on  the  granite  seat,  with  the  Wentworth  arms 
cut  in  the  stone  back  of  the  bench." 

The  viscount  gazed  at  him  without  speaking. 
Then  he  muttered,  — 

"  I  will  discover  the  meaning  of  this ! " 

Without  further  words,  he  stopped  the  coach, 
and  directed  the  watchman  to  proceed  to  the 
castle  by  the  main  carriage  road.  With  Earle, 
he  struck  into  the  path,  supporting  the  young 
man,  who  walked  with  difficulty,  looking  around 
him  with  strange  curiosity  as  he  advAn?od. 

Half-way  up  the  height  they  came  U:  *  foun 
tain  surmounted  by  a  cross. 


PATH  TO  WENTWORTH  CATttJS.        297 

"  Here  is  the  well  I  have  often  drunk  from," 
murmured  Earle,  pale  and  faint. 

And  he  walked  on,  with  the  same  dreamy 
and  vacant  expression  in  his  eyes. 

All  at  once  the  viscount  felt  him  stagger. 

"  You  are  faint ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  is  —  nothing,  my  lord.  Let  us  go  on, 
If  I  am  weary,  I  will  rest  on  the  stone  bench. 
See,  it  is  yonder,  with  the  Wentworth  arms." 

And  he  tottered  forward  to  the  broad  seat, 
upon  which  he  fell,  half  exhausted. 

The  viscount  no  longer  said  anything.  Sur 
prise  seemed  to  have  rendered  Kim  speechless. 

Earle  rose  after  resting  for  some  moments. 

"  I  am  —  weak  —  to-day.  My  wound  has 
drained  my  blood,  he  murmured.  "But  wo 
will  soon  reach  home  now ;  there  are  the  two 
rows  of  evergreens.  And  look,  there  is  the 
armed  knight ;  the  stone  is  discolored  since  I 
was  here  last." 

He  went  on,  unaware  that  the  viscount  guided 
his  steps,  and  kept  him  from  falling. 

"  The  old  firs !  How  well  I  remember  them. 
There  is  the  one  that  had  an  eagle's  nest  in  it  1 " 

The  viscount  was  speechless.  The  sailor  waa 
recalling  things  which  he  himself  reme  nbered 
clearly. 


20S     PA?H  TO  WENTW?RTH  CASTLE. 

They  passed  through  the  double  row  of  ever 
greens  toward  the  huge  pile. 

"  Here  is  the  knight !  One  of  his  spurs  used 
to  be  broken,  and  I  found  and  played  with  it 
one  day  1 " 

The  viscount  turned  pale,  and  glanced  at 
the  statue,  which  rose  from  a  massive  block  of 
granite,  in  a  grass-plat.  One  of  the  spurs  had 
been  broken  off  —  he  had  never  observed  it  be 
fore. 

He  looked  at  Earle  with  distended  eyes. 
Something  strange  seemed  going  on  in  the 
young  man. 

"  Why,  there  is  home  !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  one 
half  the  great  door  is  open,  as  always !  Is  the 
picture  grasping  the  battle-axe,  hanging  on  the 
right  of  the  door?  And  the  lady  with  the 
blue  mantle  nearly  opposite  —  is  she  there  ? 
And  the  fountain,  in  the  small  court,  with  the 
water  spouting  from  the  tritons?" 

Earle  staggered,  and  a  mist  seemed  to  pass 
before  his  eyes.  He  turned  famtly  toward  the 
viscount. 

"What  —  does  —  this  —  mean?  Where  am 
\  \  Why,  this  is  hume ! — home !  —  home !  " 

And  he  fainted  in  the  arms  of  the  viscount, 
«pho  wap  near  fainting  in  his  turn. 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

WHAT  THE   GYPSY   WOMAN  HAT>   SEEN. 

) 

-T  was  not  until  the  next  night  that  Wilde 
made  his  reappearance. 

He  then  entered  the  library  where 
Sir  Murdaugh  was  feverishly  pacing  up 
and  down ;  and  from  tne  haggard  appearance  of 
the  man's  face,  and  his  jaded  expression,  it  was 
plain  that  he  had  just  undergone  great  fatigue. 
The  baronet  stopped  and  turned  around 
eagerly. 

"Well? "he  exclaimed. 
"  I  hare  caught  her  at  last,  your  houor  I  *• 
"  Good  !  where  is  she  ? " 
"  On  her  way  to  the  coast  in  the  wagon  with 
Gubbs." 

The  baronet  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
faction, 

(299) 


WHAT  THE  GYPSY 


"  That  is  veil  1 "  he  said. 

Wilde  made  no  reply.  The  baroi  et  glanced 
at  him.  He  was  gloomy  and  dispirited. 

"What  is  tns  matter?  Has  anything  oo- 
cured  ?  Where  did  you  find  her  ?  Has  any 
thing  taken  place  &" 

"  Something  unlucky  enough,  your  honor. 
I  will  begin  and  tell  you  every  thing.  I  fol 
lowed  their  steps — her,  and  that  gypsy  scoun 
drel,  in  the  woods,  till  I  lost  them.  Gubbs  was 
as  much  at  fault  as  I  was  ;  but  we  inquired 
of  an  old  woodman,  got  on  the  trail  of  the 
gypsies,  who  have  been  camping  about  in  the 
woods,  and  found  'em  at  last  in  the  big  forest 
behind  Maverick  House,  where  they  have  been 
laying  low,  to  keep  out  of  the  way." 

"  Make  haste !  Come  to  the  point ! "  cried 
the  baronet,  impatiently. 

"  In  a  minute,  your  honor.  Well,  we  came 
on  'em  at  last.  I  heard  'em,  and  crawled 
through  the  brush  till  I  got  a  sight  of  'em, 
there  close  to  me.  An  old  hag  in  a  red  cloak 
was  watching  a  pot  boiling  over  a  fire  on  two 
forked  sticks;  and  that  gypsy  scoundrel  was 
talking  to  her,  while  she  —  the  woman  we  were 
after  —  was  listening.  As  I  got  to  my  hiding- 
place,  I  heard  the  old  hag  call  my  name ;  the 


WOMAN  HAD  SEEN.  3ul 

next  thing  she  said  was  that  she  could  get  you 
and  me  into  trouble,  and  then  that  gypsy  dog, 
who  can  never  rest  till  he  finds  out  every  thing, 
plied  her  with  questions  till  she  let  out  -  " 

Wilde  stopped. 

"Let  out  what?  Speak  1"  exclaimed  the 
baronet,  wrathf ully. 

"  What  she  had  seen  near  the  bridge  leading 
to  Wentworth  Castle  twenty  years  ago  1 "  said 
Wilde,  sullenly. 

The  baronet  turned  pale. 

"She  saw  you?" 

"  Yes,  your  honor.  How  could  I  help  that  ? 
I  had  my  orders  from  you,  and  obeyed  'em! 
and  now  I  am  to  get  into  trouble." 

"  Cease  that  growling !     She  saw  —  " 

"  Well,  she  saw  me  steal  the  child  of  Via- 
count  Cecil!"  said  Wilde,  —  "the  son  of  his 
wife  who  died  twenty  years  ago." 

The  baronet  gnawed  his  lip,  and  his  face 
grew  livid. 

"  You  paid  me  to  do  it,  and  I  lurked  round 
the  castle  till  I  did  it,"  growled  the  Hercules. 
"  I  saw  the  child  come  tottering  down  the  path 
to  the  bridge,  to  look  at  the  water.  How  he 
came  to  stray  away  from  his  nurse  1  never 
knew ;  but  he  was  there,  and  I  caught  hold  r  f 


302  WHAT  THE   GYPSY 

him,  and  lifted  him  on  my  black  horse,  arxi 
made  through  the  woods  at  a  gallop,  carrying 
him  before  me  I  " 

"And— this  hag  — 1" 

"  Saw  me  1  She  was  prowling  in  the  brush 
to  steal  fowls  or  any  thing.  I  nearly  rode  over 
her,  and  knew  she  had  seen  me.  I  ought  to  have 
killed  her,  but  blood  is  dangerous  !  I  paid  her 
ten  guineas,  and  afterwards  ten  more  when  she 
met  me  and  knew  me  for  the  man  that  stole  the 
child !  Then  she  went  away,  and  I  thought 
*he  was  dead.  I  had  carried  the  child  to 
France,  —  you  were  at  Martigny  —  and  I  saw 
no  more  of  her.  Now  she  has  told  that  gyps} 
and  that  woman  the  whole,  —  that  the  Yiscount 
Cecil's  child  was  not  drowned  in  the  torrent  as 
all  thought,  but  carried  off  by  me.  They  know 
that  he  lives  —  is  Edmond  Earle !  " 

The  baronet  drew  a  long,  deep  breath. 
Something  seemed  crushing  his  breast. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  followed?" 

"  Why,  Gubbs  came  up,  and  we  jumped  into 
*einl"  was  the  reply.  "I  knocked  the  gypsy 
rascal  on  the  head,  and  Gubbs  seized  hold  of 
the  woman.  He  dragged  her  off  then,  and  put 
her  in  the  wagon,  where  she  was  gagged,  and  ii 
now  on  her  way  to  the  FlyJ>y-Night." 


WOMAN  HAD  SEEN.  803 

"  That,  at  least,  is  gained,"  muttered  the 
baronet ;  "  and  now  for  the  other  part.  No 
one  will  believe  the  charge  of  that  old  gypsy 
hag  that  I  stole  a  child;  many  will  believe 
Edmond,  son  of  the  Yiscount  Cecil,  when  he 
brands  me  as  a  murderer ! " 

He  stopped.  The  sound  of  horses'  hoofs 
was  heard  without. 

"  He  must  die !  How  to  compass  that  1 "  said 
the  baronet,  in  a  low  voice, 

As  he  spoke,  steps  approached,  the  door 
opened,  and  Earle  entered,  pale  and  tottering. 


CHAPTER  XXT. 

THE  LOVE  OF  AN  OLD  MAN  FOB  A  GIRL. 

'O  explain  the  young  man's  presence  aJ 
Westbrooke  Hall,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  return  to  Wentworth   Castle   for  a 
brief  space. 
Earle  had  fainted  in  the  arms  of  the  Vis 
count  Cecil,  as  we  have  seen,  and  it  was  only 
with  the  assistance  of  several  servants,  who  ran 
out,  that  he  was  borne  into  the  castle. 

The  viscount,  pale  and  lost  in  wonder  at  the 
strange  scene  he  had  witnessed,  saw  to  all  his 
wants,  and  a  sound  night's  rest  seemed  to  re 
store  the  young  man  to  his  senses. 

He  descended  on  the  next  morning  and  mar- 
aged  to  swallow  a  little  food,  but  it  was  plain 
that  he  was  laboring  under  fever.     The   vis 
count  endeavored  to  prevail  on  him  to  go  to  hii 
(80i) 


AN  OLD  MAWS  LOVE.  305 

chamber  and  lie  down,  but  he  refused,  and  it 
the  midst  of  his  host's  urging,  a  carriage  drove 
up  to  the  door,  from  which  descended  Arthur 
Maverick  and  his  sister  Rose. 

Rose  entered,  pale  and  pensive,  and  the  vis 
count  hastened  forward  to  greet  her. 

"  My  dear  child !  "  he  said.  —  "  and  you  must 
permit  your  old  cousin  to  thus  address  you  I  — 
what  has  become  of  your  roses?  Your  ap 
pearance  distresses  me ! " 

Rose  smiled.  All  at  once  she  saw  Earle  and 
turned  crimson. 

"  You,  sir, — you  here  !  "  she  faltered. 

The  young  man  bowed,  and  his  face  flushed 
too. 

"  You  did  not  know  that  my  poor  face  would 
meet  your  eyes  here,  Miss  Maverick  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  rejoice  to  see  you  —  n 

There  she  stopped  with  a  deep  blush. 

"  And  I  to  see  you  again,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  with  much  emotion.  "  I  remember  that 
night  —  what  you  said — have  thought  of  it 
often !  On  the  ocean  — in  my  hours  of  musing 
—  in  France,  and  everywhere,  I  have  seen  your 
toautif ul  face  and  heard  your  voice  I  " 

The  young  girl  blushed  crimson.    The  vis 
count,   busy  in    greeting  Arthur,  had    hear;! 
20 


AN  OLL  MA  V'S  LOVR. 

nothing.  Now  he  turned  and  saw  Rose  and 
Earle  conversing  like  old  friends. 

"  You  know  my  friend,  then,  the  Baron  Dela 
mere,  my  dear  Rose ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"Very  well,  cousin  — that  is — yes,  we  know 
Mr.  Delamere." 

"  And  are  glad  to  call  him  our  friend,"  said 
Arthur,  cordially  pressing  his  hand. 

Turning  to  the  viscount  as  he  spoke,  he 
explained  how  their  acquaintance  had  taken 
place. 

"  You  saved  Rose,  then,"  said  the  viscount  to 
Earle,  with  deep  emotion.  "  For  that  alone 
you  deserve  and  have  my  gratitude — my  very 
profound  gratitude,  sir.  This  young  lady  is  my 
cousin,  and  all  I  love  upon  earth  very  nearly. 
My  life  has  been  sad,  sir^  —  her  smiles  have 
brightened  it.  She  would  live  here  at  Wentworth 
Castle,  as  its  mistress,  after  my  death,  if  I  could 
compass  tha\  I  cannot.  This  property  goes 
to  a  personage  very  distasteful  to  me,  Sir  Mur- 
daugh  Westbrooke.  Thus,  my  very  dear  Rose," 
he  said,  turning  with  a  tender  smile  toward  the 
girl,  "  you  will  remain  poor  in  comparison  with 
what  you  would  be,  had  I  my  will !  And  now, 
the  news !  I  am  just  from  France,  you  know  I 
Bow  is  Miss  Ellinor  Maverick  \ n 


AN  OLD  MAWS  LOVE. 


And  the  viscount  suddenly  cooled. 

"  That  young  lady  is  not  a  favorite  with 
me,  to  be  frank ;  but  she  is  your  relative, 
Arthur,"  he  added. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  the  young  man. 

And  he  narrated  every  thing  relating  to  the 
young  lady,  winding  up  with  the  statement 
that  in  three  or  four  days  she  was  to  be  mar 
ried  to  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke. 

The  viscount  knit  his  brows. 

"  I  had  heard  something  of  this  1  But  so 
soon !  Then  she,  instead  of  Rose,  will  be 
mistress  here ! " 

All  eyes  were  directed  toward  the  viscount 
with  surprise. 

"  You  do  not  know  the  tenor  of  Lord  Weiit- 
worth's  will,  I  see,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "  In  case 
of  my  death  without  issue,  Sir  Murdaugh  West 
brooke  inherits  my  estate,  as,  in  the  case  of  his 
death  without  issue,  I  would  inherit  his.  Well, 
my  child,"  he  said  to  Rose,  "  he  is  about  to 
marry,  and  is  younger  than  I  am.  Thus  he  and 
his  children  will  possess  this  castle  after  my 
death.  I  attempted  to  secure  you  one-half,  in 
consideration  of  relinquishing  to  the  baronet  the 
other  half  now.  He  refused.  There  all  ends. 
Would  to  God  my  poor  SOD  had  —  " 


308  AN  OLD  MAWS  LOVE. 

He  stopped  suddenly. 

"  Your  son,  sir  ?  "  said  Earle,  looking  at  him. 

al  had  a  son.  I  have  been  married,  sir 
Lady  Cecil  died  early,  and  my  poor  child 
frtrayed  away  and  was  drowned.  We  followed 
his  footprints  to  that  torrent  yonder,  and  he  was 
never  more  heard  of.  But  this  is  sorrowful,  — 
let  me  try  not  to  cloud  your  smiles,  my  dear 
Rose." 

As  he  spoke  a  servant  entered,  and  presented 
a  note  on  a  silver  salver. 

The  viscount  looked  at  it,  and  an  expression 
of  vexation  came  to  his  face. 

"  A  meeting  of  magistrates  on  a  matter  of 
importance.  My  presence  is  indispensable,"  he 
said.  "But  you  will  stay  and  dine  with  me, 
my  dear  Rose  and  Arthur." 

"I  regret  to  say  'tis  impossible,  my  lord. 
You  will  come  soon  to  see  us." 

"Very  soon;  but  remain  and  entertain  my 
friend,  the  Baron  Delamere.  I  beg  you  to  do 
so.  You  are  my  own  family." 

And,  with  a  courteous  smile,  the  viscount 
took  his  departure. 

Rose  and  Arthur  remained  until  evening. 
With  every  passing  moment,  Earle  found  him- 
self  gazing  with  deeper  tenderr^dss  on  the  beau 


AN  OLD  AfAtfS  tO?£.  30& 

iif ul  girl.  His  wild  passion  for  Ellinor  seemed 
to  have  merely  smoothed  the  way  for  this  new 
emotion,  as  profound  and  durable  as  the  first 
was  transient,  as  serenely  tender  as  the  former 
was  passionate. 

For  the  first  time  Earle  felt  that  he  loved  in 
deed;  and  when  at  last  the  young  lady  rose, 
and  took  her  departure  with  her  brother,  Earle 
felt  as  though  the  sunlight  had  suddenly  disap 
peared  from  the  earth  with  her  smile  and  the 
light  of  her  eyes.  He  fell  back  into  despon 
dency. 

The  coach,  containing  Arthur  and  Rose, 
rolle^  away  just  as  night  descended  upon  Went- 
worth  Castle. 

The  viscount  had  not  yet  returned,  and  Earle 
eat  down,  gloomy  and  lonely.  Then  all  the 
violent  passions,  which  the  presence  of  the  girl 
had  banished,  began  to  tear  him  once  more. 
He  rose  and  paced  the  floor,  burnt  up  by  the 
one  thought  of  his  mother.  Finally  a  fever 
seized  him ;  he  felt  as  though  his  head  were 
burning,  and  going  to  a  bell,  rang  it  violently. 

A  servant  hastened  in. 

"  My  horse  !  "  said  Earle,  feverishly. 

The  servant  hesited,  looking  with  astonish 
ment  at  his  flushed  face. 


310  AN  OLD  MAWS  LOVE. 

"Well,  my  horse!  My  horse,  I  say  I  Sad 
die  my  horse,  without  dolay  !  " 

The  servant  bowed  and  went  out,  reduced  to 
submission  by  the  authoritative  voice. 

Earle  then  coolly  descended,  put  on  his  hat 
and  gloves,  and  went  to  the  great  door. 

A  horse,  saddled  and  bridled,  already  awaited 
him.  At  Wentworth  Castle  the  master  never 
waited. 

"  Inform  the  viscount  that  I  have  gone  out  to 
take  a  short  ride,"  he  said,  getting  into  the 
saddle. 

And  leaving  the  groom  gazing  with  amaze 
ment  on  his  agitated  face,  like  the  first  servant, 
Earle  rode  down  the  great  avenue,  and,  crossing 
the  bridge,  went  straight  on. 

What  was  his  destination  ?  He  scarce  knew 
His  brain  was  reeling,  and  he  was  burnt  up  by 
fever.  Only  a  vague  sensation  of  rage  and 
thirst  for  revenge  upon  the  baronet  possessed 
him.  His  mother  —  that  paper  —  Sir  Mur- 
daugh  Westbrooke  —  such  were  the  thoughts 
that  flitted  through  his  weak  brain.  And  set 
ting  spur  to  his  horse,  he  rode  toward  West 
brooke  Hall. 

The  animal  broke  into  a  gallop,  and  it  was  a 
miracle  almost  that  Earle  kept  his  seat  as  the 


AN  OLD  MAWS  LOVE.  811 

horse  sped  on  through  the  darkness.  He  tot 
tered  from  side  to  side,  his  eyes  half -closed,  his 
bosom  heaving.  With  heated  brain  and  burn 
ing  cheeks,  which  only  rendered  more  shocking 
and  terrible  his  death-like  pallor,  he  went  on 
at  at  full  speed,  clinging  to  his  animal  rather  by 
the  instinct  of  excellent  horsemanship  than  any 
thing  else;  —  and  so,  feeble,  reeling,  fever* 
stricken,  out  of  his  senses  nearly,  reached  West- 
brooke  Hall,  and  stood  before  Sir  Murdaugh 
Westbrooke  the  moment  after  he  had  uttered 
the  words  in  reference  to  Earle,  -*- 
"He  must  die  1" 


CHAPTER   YYTTT 

THB  BLUDGEON  AND  THE  ROPE. 

T  sight  of  Earle,  the  baronet  recoiled 
and  shook  in  every  limb.  Then  a  dia 
bolical  joy  shone  in  his  bloodshot  eyes, 
and  his  mouth  slowly  expanded  into 
the  hideous  grin  which  was  habitual  with 
him. 

For  a  moment,  neither  of  the  adversaries 
spoke.  The  baronet  looked  keenly  at  his  in 
tended  victim. 

Earle  was  as  thin  as  a  ghost,  and  frightfully 
pale,  except  in  the  centre  of  his  cheeks.  There 
a  hectic  flush  burned,  like  a  red-hot  coal.  As 
he  had  advanced  he  had  staggered.  As  he 
looked  at  the  baronet  now,  his  eyes  showed 
plainly  that  the  young  man  was  approaching  a 
paroxysm  of  fever;  that  the  wound  inflicted  by 
(812) 


AMD  kOPE.  313 


Wilde  had  at  last  worked  its  results,  and 
strength  of  mind  and  body  were  leaving  him 
together. 

The  expression  of  diabolical  joy  in  the  bar- 
Dnet's  face  deepened.  But,  spite  of  this  feel 
ing,  the  face  of  Earle  seemed  to  cow  him. 

*f  What  is  —  your  pleasure  ?  "  he  stammered. 
"  What  brings  you  to  this  house  ?  " 

"  To  slay  you,  if  necessary,  as  you  slew  Giles 
Maverick  !  "  shouted  Earle,  "  unless  you  tell  me 
where  I  may  find  my  mother  !  " 

The  baronet  recoiled. 

"  My  mother  1  "  shouted  Earle,  his  hand  going 
to  his  empty  belt,  "  or,  by  heaven,  I'll  have 
your  blood,  were  you  fifty  times  my  father  !  " 

"  Then  he  does  not  know  yet;  !  "  came  in  low, 
muttered  tones  from  the  baronet,  as,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  young  man's  hot  face,  he  retreated 
toward  the  right-hand  apartment. 

u  My  mother  !  —  where  is  my  mother  ?  —  and 
that  marriage-record  you  stole  at  Martigny  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  in  his  hoarse  voice,  strident  and 
metallic  from  the  effect  of  fever,  Earle  ad 
vanced  on  the  baronet,  who  continued  to  retreat 
before  him. 

In  the  baronet's  eyes  there  was  something 
frightful,  —  a  venom  which  may  be  seen  in  the 


314  BLUDGEON  AND  KOP&. 

eyes  of  the  cobra,  when  he  raises  his  deadty 
crest  and  is  about  to  spring. 

"  Your  mother  ?  I  know  nothing  of  her," 
he  said,  watching  Earle  warily,  and  continuing 
to  retire. 

"  Murderer  1  No  1  You  shall  not  escape 
me  !  You  are  my  father,  but  —  " 

He  staggered.  But  for  the  table  which  stood 
near  him,  he  would  have  fallen  to  the  earth. 
He  leaned  upon  it,  and  passed  his  other  hand 
over  his  brow  as  thcugh  to  clear  his  vision. 

"My  mother  1"  he  murmured,  faintly. 

His  doom  had,  in  that  moment,  been  pro 
nounced. 

The  baronet  had  turned  and  whispered  a  few 
hurried  words  to  Wilde.  The  latter  had  dis 
appeared  at  one  bound. 

Suddenly  Earle  seemed  to  recover  hig 
strength,  as  though  by  a  miracle.  On  the  wall 
;  hung  a  sword.  He  caught  it  down  and  rushed 
on  the  baronet. 

"  Speak  1  Tell  me  where  to  find  my  mother 
and  that  paper,"  he  shouted,  "  or  I  will  tear  you 
in  pieces,  whether  you  be  my  father  or  not  I 
Answer,  monster  that  you  are,  where  have  you 
hidden  my  mother?  You  murdered  Giles 
Maverick  —the  very  dog  who  saw  it  rose  to 


AND  ROPE.  813 


convict  you  I  You  robbed  the  register  at  Mar- 
tigny  like  a  felon  and  a  thief  !  Last,  my 
mother  disappears  —  you  may  have  murdered 
her,  aa  you  would  murder  me  if  you  dared  1  " 

"  I  dare  !  "  came  in  a  deep  and  sombre  voice 
from  the  baronet. 

As  he  spoke  the  door  of  the  secret  closet  in 
the  wall  flew  open:  the  figure  of  Wilde  ap- 
1teared  in  the  opening  like  a  hideous  picture  in 
its  frame  ;  a  bludgeon  rose,  descended,  and  fell 
upon  Earle's  right  temple,  and  he  fell  forward 
at  full  length,  deprived  of  consciousness,  i* 
seemed  of  life. 

"  Now  for  the  rope  I  the  rope  1  "  shouted  the 
baronet,  hoarsely. 

Wilde  rushed  into  the  apartment,  and  threw 
a  rope  around  the  young  man's  shoulders. 
Then,  at  a  signal  from  the  baronet,  he  wrapped 
and  re-wrapped  his  arms,  thus  rendering  him 
entirely  powerless,  '  even  if  he  recovered  his 
senses. 

"What  next,  sir?"  growled  the  Hercules, 
breathing  heavily,  and  gazing  with  knit  brows 
on  the  pi  ostrate  figure. 

"  Death  I  "  came  in  a  low  tone  from  the  bar 
onet,  whose  face  resembled  that  of  a  corpse. 
"  Death  1  He  has  forced  this  on  me  1  Death  1 


316  BLUDGEON   AND  ROPE. 

and  death  in  presence  of  the    dust  of  Gild 
Maverick ! " 

The  Hercules  started  and  turned  pale.  Rough 
and  unscrupulous  as  he  was,  the  words  of  the 
baronet  horrified  him. 

"  You  don't  mean  —  n 

"Yes,"  came  in  the  same  low  voice  from 
the  lips  of  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke.  "  What 
is  the  difference?  It  must  not  take  place 
here !  He  must  be  lost  sight  of,  or  you  and  1 
mount  the  gallows  !  He  must  die  that  I  may 
live !  He  shall  not  first  put  the  rope  around 
my  neck,  and  then,  as  the  son  of  the  Viscount 
Cecil,  inherit  this  est«  te !  He  shall  die,  and  — 
yonder !  He  has  made  himself  the  champion 
of  Giles  Maverick!  Let  him  wake  to  find 
himself  close  to  him  in  the  vault !  Say 
nothing!  I  have  resolved  on  it!  Refuse  to 
aid  me,  and  you  hang !  Two  horses !  —  quick ! 
and  tools  tc  open  the  Maverick  vault !  Once 
shut  up  there,  he  will  not  trouble  us!  —  the 
dead  tell  no  tales  I " 


CHAPTER  XXHL 


THE   MAVERICK   VAULT. 

N  hour  afterwards,  a  strange,  and  terrible 
scene  took  place  at  Llangollen  church 
yard,  —  a  wild  and  secluded  spot  in  the 
hills,  a  league  from  Westbrooke  Hall, 
church,  ancient  and  weather-beaten, 
rose  in  the  midst  of  a  ghostly  array  of  tomb 
stones  ;  and  the  shadows  of  the  sombre  ever 
greens  growing  thickly  along  the  rude  stone 
wall  around  the  grounds,  danced  fantastically, 
as  a  chill  wind  agitated  their  boughs,  and 
sobbed  onward. 

It  was  a  weird  and  lugubrious  night.  The 
moon  was  sailing  through  long  streaks  of  ebon 
clouds,  reaching  from  horizon  to  horizon.  At 
one  instant  the  lonely  edifice,  and  the  tombs 
around  it  came  out  with  sudden  brilliance. 

(3J7) 


£18  THE  MAVERICK  VAULT. 

Then  the  moon  disappeared  and  all  was 
wrapped  in  gloom  again,  a  gloom  which  the 
sobbing  wind  rendered  ghastly  and  funereal. 

All  at  once,  as  the  moon  soared  forth,  light 
ing  up  the  sombre  tombstones  and  family 
va  ults,  —  for  Llangollen  was  the  place  of  sepul- 
ture  for  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood,  — two 
figures,  carrying  between  them  something  which 
they  half  supported  and  half  dragged,  got 
over  the  wall,  and  rapidly  approached  a  huge 
stone  set  in  the  side  of  a  knoll.  This  stone  was 
evidently  the  door  to  a  large  vault,  and  was  se 
cured  by  an  iron  fastening.  Over  it,  cut  in 
rude  letters  on  the  coping  was  the  single  word  — 

"  Maverick." 

The  figures  came  on  rapidly  with  their  bur 
den,  which,  silent  and  insensible,  resembled  a 
dead  body. 

"  It  is  here,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  Where 
are  the  tools  ?  Wrench  off  the  fastening." 

The  other  obeyed  the  order,  and,  inserting  ac 
instrument,  succeeded  in  forcing  the  vault. 

"  Open ! "  came  from  the  other. 

A  huge  shoulder  was  placed  against  the  stone 
and  it  slowly  revolved,  grating  on  its  hinges. 

Suddenly  the  neigh  of  a  horse,  from  beyond 
the  wall,  rang  out* 


THE  MAVERICK  VAULT.  31 P 

The  two  men  started  and  trembled. 

"It  is  nothing,  only  the  horses;  quick,  help 
me  to  carry  him  in  ! "  came  in  a  guttural  whis 
per  from  the  lips  of  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrcoke 

Wilde,  panting  and  shaking  in  all  his  limbs, 
obeyed.  The  body  of  Earle  was  lifted  and 
borne  down  the  few  steps  into  the  vault. 

"  He  will  not  live  here  ten  minutes,"  mut 
tered  Wilde,  staggering  back.  "The  air  ie 
death  to  breathe.'r 

"  So  much  the  better  —  come !  n 

And  leaping  out  of  the  vault,  the  baronet 
gained  the  open  air.  Wilde  hastily  followed 
him,  and,  at  a  sign  from  his  master,  closed  the 
huge  door.  It  went  to  with  a  dull  clash.  The 
Hercules  shuddered. 

"  Fasten  the  iron." 

With  a  trembling  hand,  Wilde  obeyed ;  ard 
in  a  few  moments  the  vault  was  heavily  se 
cured.  The  baronet  looked  on  with  the  expres 
sion  of  a  fiend,  during  the  work. 

"  And  now,  come,"  he  said ;  "  but  what  is 
that?" 

And  he  pointed  to  a  shadow,  passing  rapidly 
beneath  the  evergreens.  As  he  uttered  the 
words,  the  shadow  darted  toward  the  wall  near 
the  horses. 


320  THE  MAVERICK  VAULT. 

u  A  man  1  —  some  one  has  seen  us." 

The  words  escaped  the  baronet  in  a  horrified 
cry.  He  shuddered,  and  exclaimed. 

"  Pursue  him !  —  he  must  die,  or  we  are  lost." 

Wilde  had  not  waited  for  the  order.  With 
one  bound  he  reached  the  wall ;  as  he  cleared 
it,  a  dark  figure  crossed  the  expanse  without  at 
a  run.  Wilde  followed ;  the  figure  stumbled ; 
a  moment  afterwards,  they  had  clutched. 

"  You ! "  cried  Wilde,  recognizing  the  gypsy. 

The  vagabond  made  no  reply. 

"You  saw,  then ?"  gasped  Wilde. 

The  words  were  followed  by  a  cry  from  the 
Hercules.  The  gypsy  had  drawn  his  knife,  and 
plunged  it  into  the  gamekeeper's  heart 

"  Ah ! "  groaned  Wilde  staggering  back,  "  I 
am  dead !  but — " 

And  suddenly  wrenching  the  knife  from  the 
gypsy,  he  drove  it  into  his  breast. 

The  weapon  disappeared  to  the  hilt,  which 
struck  heavily  against  the  gypsy's  breast-bone. 

"  We  die  together  at  least,"  gasped  Wilde,  in 
a  broken  voice. 

And  he  fell,  dragging  the  gypsy. 

A  moment  afterwards,  as  the  baronet  hastened 
to  the  spot,  he  half  rose. 

*  I  die,"  muttered  Wilde  —  '<  but  he  too  -  - 1 " 


THE  MAVERICK  VAULT. 


521 


He  pointed  to  the  body  of  the  gypsy,  lying 
on  its  back  with  the  knife  buried  in  the  breast. 

As  Wilde  spoke,  his  head  drooped,  the  death- 
rattle  issued  from  his  throat,  and  falling  back, 
he  uttered  a  last  groan  and  expired. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


THB  MAN  FEOM  WENTWOBTH  CA8TLK. 

I T  was  nearly  midnight. 

Q  u  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  was  sitting 
&£&  in  his  library  at  "Westbrooke  Hall. 

He  seemed  to  have  grown  ten  years 
older  since  the  morning,  and  was  livid. 

At  every  instant  he  looked  over  his  shoulder, 
and  listened. 

"  Folly  1 "  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  rising  and 
uttering  a  short,  harsh  laugh ;  "  am  I  a  baby  to 
start  at  shadows !  All  is  safe  now !  discovery 
is  impossible.  My  plans  succeed — nothing 
fails !  That  woman  is  safe  on  board  the  Fly-by 
Night  now,  and  the  marriage  record  is  burned  1 
That  man  is  —  " 

He  stopped.  In  spite  of  himself  a  tremor 
agitated  him. 

(828) 


MAN  FROM  WENTWORTH   CASTLE,     tfzti 

"  He  too  has  disappeared !  Thus  nothing  pre 
vents  my  marrying  Ellinor  Maverick  on  the 
day  after  to-morrow ;  and  he  will  not  be  present 
any  more  than  that  woman  to  convict  me! 
Yes  —  all  is  safe.  I  marry  and  I  inherit  the 
Wentworth  property.  The  obstacles  have  dis 
appeared —  even  Gubbs  and  "Wilde,  my  tools 
Gubbs  will  go  to  St.  Domingo,  and  never  more 
be  heard  of;  Wilde  is  yonder  in  the  wood 
where  I  dragged  him  and  the  dead  gypsy, 
When  they  are  found.,  there  will  be  no  questions. 
My  gamekeeper  has  fought  with  a  poacher, 
and  in  the  affray  they  have  both  been  killed ! " 

He  sat  down,  pale  and  breathing  heavily,  des 
pite  his  reassuring  reflections. 

"  And  yet  I  tremble  ! "  he  muttered ;  "  I  start 
at  every  sound ! " 

The  hoofs  of  a  horse  were  heard  without. 
A  mounted  man  was  evidently  approaching 
rapidly. 

The  baronet  started  up. 

"  Who  can  that  be !" 

As  he  spoke,  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  front 
door,  and  then  silence  followed. 

The  baronet  seemed  paralyzed.  What  to  do  ? 
ShouVi  he  secrete  himself?  WLo  was  this  mid 
night  visitor  f  -, 


<*LM      MAN  FROM   WENTWORTH  CASTLE. 

"  I  am  a  coward  !  —  shadows  fright  me  I  1 
will  face  all!" 

And  he  went  and  opened  the  front  door  of 
the  house.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  do 
-M.  Beside  Wilde  there  had  been  for  weeks 
only  an  old  deaf  crone  of  a  servant  at  the 
hall. 

A  serving  man  was  seen  at  the  door. 

*•  Well  ? "  said  the  baronet  in  a  low  tone. 

The  man's  hand  went  to  his  hat. 

"  Has  Captain  Earle  been  here,  your  honor  ? 
1  was  sent  by  his  lordship  to  ask,  and  say  that 
Captain  Earle,  who  is  staying  at  the  castle,  went 
out  for  a  short  ride  this  evening,  and  an  hour 
or  two  afterwards  his  horse  came  back  without 
any  rider.  His  lordship  thought  he  might  have 
had  an  accident,  and  something  might  be  known 
of  him  here." 

The  baronet  responded  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Why  here  ? " 

u  His  lordship  did  not  say,  your  honor." 

"  Say  to  his  lordship  that  I  have  seen  nothing 
of  Captain  Earle." 

The  servant  touched  his  hat  and  retired. 

The  baronet  closed  the  door,  and  staggered 
rather  than  walked  back  to  the  library. 

"Peril  surrounds   me  on  every  sidel    Th« 


MAN  FROM  WENTWORTH  CAf  ,  La.     325 

ghost  of  that  boy  rises  to  point  to  the  spot  where 
he  is  entombed  alive !  Was  I  mad  to  do  that  ? 
Am  I  then  the  monster  of  monsters  ? " 

He  fell  into  a  seat. 

"  Doubtless,  since  I  do  this  monstrous  thing ! 
Well,  let  me  act  out  my  character !  I  will  go 
through  now  to  the  end !  Once  married,  I  will 
go  abroad  and  only  return  when  the  viscount  is 
dead  !  Dead  ?  If  he  were  only  dead  now,  all 
were  well ! " 

A  cry  of  pain  followed  the  words. 

He  had  violently  clenched  his  hands.  The 
movement  of  that  upon  which  the  dissecting 
knife  had  inflicted  the  wound,  caused  him  acute 
agony. 

"  I  had  forgotten  that !  "  he  muttered,  gazing 
at  the  slight  puncture,  from  which  he  had  long 
removed  the  bandage ;  "  who  would  have  be 
lieved  that  a  scratch  would  cause  so  much  pain  ?" 

He  pondered  for  more  than  an  hour.  Then 
he  suddenly  rose. 

"  The  die  is  cast !  Why  draw  back  now ! " 
he  muttered.  "  All  is  decided.  In  two  days  1 
shall  be  married  and  on  my  way  to  France ! " 

A  smile  of  ghastly  triumph  distorted  his  1^* 
as  he  spoke,  and,  taking  a  light  from  the  tablo, 
he  went  to  his  chamber. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  WEDDING  AT  LLANGOLLEN. 

[T  was  two  days  after  these  scenes. 

The  coast  of  Pembrokeshire  wa« 
bathed  in  a  flood  of  brilliant  sunshine. 
The  great  headland  above  Oldport 
rose  like  a  giant  in  the  fresh  light.  The  foam 
danced  and  sparkled ;  and  even  the  sombre 
firs  of  the  hills  seemed  more  cheerful  for 
this  illumination,  driving  away  the  luists  of 
autumn. 

At  Llangolleu  church  in  the  hills,  a  large 
crowd  had  assembled.  It  was  the  day  c  f  Sii 
Murdaugh  Westbrooke's  marriage  to  Misi 
Ellinor  Maverick. 

The  selection  of  Llangollen  church  as  the 
Boene  of  the  marriage  cerem-  >ny  had  been  made 
lit  the  last  moment,  and  in  spite  of  the  >aronet'i 


Ttt£  WZDDItfG  AT  LLANGOLLEX.       327 

persistent  objections.  The  fair  Ellinor,  aow- 
ever,  had  not  been  his  opponent  in  the  discus 
sion.  The  old  dowager,  Lady  Worsham,  at 
whose  house  the  young  ladv  had  "  taken 
refuge,"  as  she  said,  had  been  seized  with  a  fit 
of  piety  or  religious  etiquette,  it  seemed ;  and 
under  the  influence  of  this  sentiment  she  had 
obstinately  announced  that  the  wedding  feast 
might  be  at  her  house,  but  the  ceremony  must 
he  at  Llangolleu  church. 

The  old  dowager  had  triumphed.  The  bar 
onet  found  her  immovable,  and  with  fear  and 
trembling  yielded. 

"  After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  what  have 
I  to  fear  ?  A  ghost  ?  —  men  do  not  live  two 
days  in  — " 

The  words  died  away  in  his  throat. 

"  So  be  it,  madam,"  he  said. 

And  bowing  sullenly,  he  went  to  make  his 
preparations. 

The  morning  came,  and  the  announcement 
of  the  intended  ceremony  had  drawn  a  great 
crowd,  both  of  the  gentry  and  the  plainer  peo 
ple.  Chariots  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  dis 
charged  their  burdens  of  lord  and  lady.  A 
crowd  watched  there,  moving  inquietly  to  and 
fro  in  front  of  the  gateway.  Among  the  crowd 


S28       THE  WEDDttiG  AT  LLAttGOLLStt. 

were  seen  many  of  the  fraternity  of  the  wolves, 
—  rough  figures,  brought  thither  by  some 
stronger  sentiment,  it  seemed,  than  curiosity 
and  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  pageant  with 
ill -concealed  hostility. 

At  last  the  chariot  of  Lady  Worsham,  con 
taining  the  dowager,  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke,  and  Miss  Ellinor  Maverick  drove  up  to 
the  gateway. 

From  it  issued,  first,  the  baronet,  clad  with 
unusual  splendor,  but  as  pale  as  death.  Then 
came  the  ladies :  they  entered  the  church, 
and  a  great  crowd  surged  in  after  them. 

In  front  of  the  altar  stood  the  priest  in  his 
black  canonicals.  The  bridal  party  —  if  that 
could  be  called  a  party  consisting  of  but  two 
or  three  persons  —  ascended  the  aisle,  took 
their  positions  before  the  priest,  and  the  cere 
mony  was  about  to  begin. 

From  the  body  of  the  church,  gloomy,  in 
spite  of  the  sunshine,  a  great  crowd  followed 
the  details  of  the  scene,  with  varied  emotions. 

Many  were  there  from  simple  curiosity 
Others  came  from  want  of  means  to  otherwise 
kill  the  time.  Others,  —  and  they  were  num 
erous —  gazed  with  ill-concealed  hostility  on 
the  pale  bridegroom.  Never  popular,  or  per- 


THE  WEDDING  At  LLAhGOLLEN. 


sonally  attractive,  the  baronet  had  now  few 
well-wishers,  and  was  BO  livid  as  to  appear 
hideous. 

One  thing  about  him  everybody  observed  — 
his  head  hung  down,  and  moved  from  side  to 
side.  As  it  thus  moved,  wary  and  fearful 
glances  shot  from  beneath  his  gray  eyebrows; 
more  than  once  he  looked  furtively  over  his 
shoulder  as  though  fearful  of  something.  As 
he  took  his  place  beside  the  beautiful  Ellinor, 
he  was  observed  to  shudder. 

She  was  radiant,  and  her  splendid  costume 
set  off  her  dazzling  and  magnetic  beauty.  It 
was  plain  that  no  doubts  or  misgivings  affected 
her.  She  was  about  to  become  the  wife  of  a 
man  of  great  wealth  and  high  rank  —  her 
worldly  ambition  was  soon  to  be  fully  grati 
fied  ;  and  in  the  dark  eyes  of  the  fair  Ellinor, 
as  she  rustled  up  to  the  chancel,  in  her  grand 
white  satin,  could  be  read  haughty  triumph, 
and  the  fruition  of  all  her  hopes. 

The  ceremony  began.  As  it  did  so,  a  mur 
mur  issued  from  the  crowd.  They  were  saying 
to  each  other,  "  How  beautiful  1  "  and  "  How 
hideous  !  " 

But  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  did  not  heai 
them.  All  his  powers  seemed  to  be  conoen 


THE  WEDDIKG  AT  LLAtfGOLLEtt. 


trated  into  the  one  faculty  of  listening.  Hi* 
face  resembled  the  drawn  and  parchment-like 
outlines  of  a  corpse.  He  plainly  feared  some 
thing  —  some  miracle,  it  might  be  —  the  invis- 
i  Die  fate  seemed  approaching. 

It  came. 

The  priest  proceeded  with  the  ceremony,  and 
reached  the  passage. 

"Into  this  holy  estate  these  two  persona 
present  come  now  to  be  joined." 

He  looked  up  from  the  book. 

"  If  any  man  can  show  just  cause  why  they 
may  not  lawfully  be  joined  together,  let  him 
now  sjjeak,  or  hereafter  forever  hold  his  peace." 

As  the  words  issued  from  the  priest's  lips,  a 
woman  in  a  black  dress  advanced  slowly  up  the 
aisle.  All  saw  her  coming,  and  a  hundred  eyes 
were  directed  toward  her. 

The  priest  gazed  at  her  in  utter  astonishment. 
The  hand  containing  the  prayer-book  sunk  to 
hie  side. 

The  woman  came  on,  BIOW,  silent,  with  the 
noiseless  tread  of  a  ghost. 

Suddenly  the  baronet  raised  his  head.  His 
startled  eyes  roamed  from  side  to  side.  He 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  Ac  he  did  BO,  he 
uttered  a  low  cry. 


TffE  WEDDING  AT  LtAtfGOLLEN.      331 

•  There  is  just  cause,"  said  the  recluse,  in  a 
low,  clear  voice,  "  why  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke  should  not  marry.  I  am  Lady  West- 
brooke.  Here  is  the  record  of  my  marriage." 

And  she  extended  toward  the  priest  the  frag 
tnents  of  the  leaf  of  the  marriage  register  stolen 
from  Martigny. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  A  BLOOD-HOUND. 

'IK  MURDAUGH  WESTBROOKE 
tottered,  and  leaned  on  the  chancel 
railing. 

Ellinor  Maverick  uttered  a  low  scream, 
tnd  foil  back  fainting  in  the  arms  of  Lady 
Worsham. 

The  crowd  in  the  body  of  the  church  rose, 
and  towering  above  them   could  be  seen  the 
commanding  figure  of  the  Viscount  Cecil,  who 
made  a  gesture  to  some  one  and  said  coldly,  — 
"  The  moment  has  come  1 " 
Then  a  shudder  ran  through  the  assembly 
It  opened  right    and  left,   and  through   the 
gpace  thus  made  advanced  a  procession  of  the 
wolves,  bearing  on  their  shoulders  — 
EAELE! 

(8M) 


VENGEANCE  OS  A  BLOO&  HOUND.      333 

The  young  man  was  wasted  to  a  shadow. 
LTis  face  was  paler  than  ashes.  His  eyes  were 
sunken  and  bloodshot.  He  lay  on  the  brawny 
shoulders  of  his  brother  wolves,  as  weak  as  a 
sick  child,  and  as  he  was  borne  up  the  aisle 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  baronet,  and  whispered 
rather  than  said,  — 

"  That  is  he." 

The  priest  advanced  hurriedly. 

"  "What  means  this  scene  ?  Who  is  this  sick 
man?" 

"  Ask  the  witness  1  have  brought  here." 
said  the  viscount. 

And  he  pointed  to  the  rear  of  the  strange 
procession. 

Supported  between  two  of  the  wolves,  was 
eeen  the  gypsy,  as  pale  and  wasted  as  Earle. 
His  eyes  alone  seemed  alive  as  he  staggered  on 
between  his  two  supporters,  and  those  eyes,  dark 
and  fiery,  were  fixed  upon  the  countenance  of 
the  baronet. 

The  priest  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  My  lord  I  the  meaning  of  all  this  1 "  he 
faltered. 

"It  means  that  the  person  whom  you  see 
there,  has  attempted  botf  bigamy  and  murder,* 
said  the  viscount 


834:      VENGEANCE  OP  A  BLOOD-HOUND. 

And  with  his  arm  extended  at  full  length,  he 
pointed  straight  toward  Sir  Murdaugh  West- 
brooke. 

"  Do  you  doubt  ?  look  at  him ! " 

And  his  extended  arm  remained  motionless. 

"  Did  I  need  the  testsmony  of  his  face,  that 
would  convict  him !  "  said  the  viscount  slowly 
and  solemnly.  "But  that  is  not  needed. 
There  are  witnesses,  Listen  !  people  of  Pem 
brokeshire  ! " 

And  turning  to  the  crowd,  — 

"  Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  married  in 
France  —  and  there  is  his  wife.  He  attempts 
to  marry  again,  and  has  stolen  the  record  — 
there  it  is.  He  stole  my  child  —  the  only  child 
of  my  poor  wife  who  died  twenty  years  since  — 
to  inherit  from  me.  and  buried  that  child  alive 
—  there  he  is  !  LVt  two  days  since  all  this  was 
arranged,  as  he  supposed,  securely.  The  first 
wife  was  sent  toward  the  coast  to  be  carried 
abroad,  and  I  met  and  was  appealed  to  by 
her.  The  child  —  my  child  —  was  knocked 
down  and  dragged  to  this  very  spot,  and  buried 
alive  in  the  Mavei  i-jk  vaults,  by  the  murderei 
of  Giles  Maverick ;  and  a  poor  gypsy  who 
saw  the  infamy,  and  was  left  as  they  thought 
dead,  dragged  his  bleeding  body  to  -Oldport, 


VENGEANCE  OF  A  BLOOD  ffOUND.      335 

where  he  gave  the  alarm  to  the  brave  chief  c.f 
the  wolves  there.  They  came  and  rescued  him, 
almost  dying !  There  he  is  1 " 

He  pointed  to  Earle. 

An  immense  shout  rose  from  the  assembly. 

"  Death !  death  to  him  1 "  cried  the  wolves  ; 
"he  tried  to  murder  a  wolf  I  Death  to  the 
murderer ! " 

As  they  spoke,  they  rushed  straight  on  the 
baronet,  Goliath  at  their  head. 

"  Death  1  death ! "  rose  in  hoarse  thunder 
from  the  ferocious  crowd. 

And  they  were  about  to  tear  the  baronet  tc 
pieces. 

Suddenly  Goliath  recoiled,  and  the  crowd 
behind  him,  felt  the  pressure  of  his  huge  bulk. 

"  Look  at  him !  look  at  the  murderer !  "  he 
growled  in  terrified  tones,  pointing  to  the  bar 
onet. 

The  sight  was  terrible  indeed. 

Sir  Murdaugh  Westbrooke  foamed  at  the 
mouth,  and  his  huge  red  tongue  was  hanging 
out.  His  eyes  glared  around  him  with  a  vacant 
and  animal  expression.  All  at  once  he  began 
to  pant  quickly,  as  a  dog  does  when  he  is  heated, 
then  he  snapped,  uttered  a  growl,  which  ended 
in  a  sound  like  a  bark,  and  rushed  straight  upon 


336      VENGEANCE  OF  A  b\COD- -HOUND. 

the  crowd,  who  gave  way  with  terror,  as  a» 
came. 

"  The  mad  dog !  He  was  bitten  I  —  his  bite 
is  deadly!" 

Some  one  uttered  those  words. 

Their  effect  was  instant. 

The  crowd  recoiled,  and  leaped  over  the 
backs  of  the  seats,  to  avoid  him. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  follow  them.  They 
eeemed  to  have  disappeared  from  his  view. 
The  wretched  man,  who  had  inoculated  his 
blood  with  the  mad  dog's  virus,  when  he 
punctured  his  hand,  in  dissecting  the  corpse, 
bitten  by  the  animal,  was  now  fully  mastered 
by  the  poison,  and  turned  into  a  beast.  Hydro 
phobia  —  that  most  awful  of  human  scourges  — 
had  clutched  him.  He  saw  nothing,  heard 
nothing,  rushed  on,  he  knew  not  whither,  snap- 
ing,  and  uttering  hoarse  cries.  When  he  was 
followed  into  the  churchyard,  it  was  seen  that 
he  made  for  the  Maverick  vault. 

"There  are  two  men  murdered  here  I  One 
is  alive ! "  he  growled,  tearing  at  the  huge 
Btone. 

Four  men  threw  themselves  upon  him,  and 
seized  him.  They  were  scarce  able  to  hold 
him.  Tetanus  had  set  in  with  mortal  violence ; 


VENGEANCE  OP  A  BLOOD-HOUND.     837 

and  he  was  borne  foaming,  raving,  and  strug 
gling  to  "Westbrooke  hall. 

Three  more  paroxysms  assailed  the  miserable 
man  before  midnight. 

As  the  last  died  away,  he  fell  back  a  corpse 
in  the  arms  of  his  attendants. 

The  dog  of  the  murdered  man,  Giles  Mav 
erick,  had  avenged  his  master.  He  had  bitten 
and  poisoned  the  wolf ;  and  the  dead  wolf  had 
poisoned  the  murderer. 

The  gallows  was  spared  the  trouble.  Hydro 
phooia  ended  all. 


CHAPTER  XXVTL 

THE  WOLVES   CELEBRATE   THE   MARRIAGE   OF 
THELtt   GH1KF. 

|UR  narrative  might  here  appropriately 
end,  but  a  few  words  more  may  interest 
the  reader. 

As  the  baronet  rushed  from  Llangollen 
Church,  Ellinor  Maverick  was  borne  out  faint 
ing,  by  Lady  Worsham;  and  a  month  after 
wards  they  went  abroad,  returning  only  some 
years  afterwards  to  Pembrokeshire. 

Earle,  his  mother,  and  the  gypsy  were  led 
forth  in  triumph  by  the  wolves  —  and  as  the 
young  man  raised  his  head  in  the  fresh  sun 
shine,  he  felt  his  father's  arms  around  him. 
Thereat  the  wolves  uttered  a  shout. 
*  It  be  his  son!    the  son  of  the  good  vis- 


MARRIAGE   CELEBRATION.  389 

count !  he  be  the  chief  of  the  wolves ! "  shouted 
Goliath. 

And  again  they  caught  up  Earle  and  bore 
him  to  the  viscount's  coach,  on  their  shculderg, 
in  triumph* 

"  You  be  the  chief,  master,  remember  I "  re 
peated  Goliath. 

And  he  uttered  a  second  shout.  The  wolves 
howled  in  response,  and  the  sound  rang  through 
the  hills  like  thunder. 

It  was  still  reverberating  in  the  fir-clad 
gorges,  when  the  chariot  with  Earle,  his  moth 
er,  the  gypsy,  and  the  viscount,  disappeared. 

In  an  hour  they  were  at  Wentworth  Castle. 

A  year  after  these  events,  Edmond,  son  of  the 
Viscount  Cecil,  was  married  to  Rose  Maverick, 
at  Maverick  House. 

Lady  "Westbrooke  remained  at  Wentworth 
Castle.  Nothing  could  induce  her  to  inhabit 
her  dower  estate  of  Westbrooke  Hall. 

Arthur  Maverick  remained  unmarried.  Elli- 
nor  returned  only  some  years  afterwards,  and 
never  appeared  in  society;  dedicating  her  time 
to  Lady  Worsham,  from  whom  she  expected  to 
inherit  an  estate. 

The  gypsy,  promoted  to  the  port  of  head 


540  MARRIAGE   CELEBRATION. 

gamekeeper  at  Wentworth  Castle,  lived  and 
died,  loved  and  trusted  by  Earle. 

So  terminated  the  drama  —  such  were  the 
fates  of  the  personages. 

The  Viscount  Cecil  seemed,  more  than  all 
others,  content  with  the  denouement.  He  had 
regained  his  son,  and  that  son  was  married  to 
his  favorite  Rose. 

The  wedding  was  a  grand  one.  No  less  a 
person  than  Lieutenant  Dargonne  made  his  ap 
pearance,  and  laughed  and  drank  his  old  cap 
tain's  health.  Then  the  cortege  set  out  from 
Maverick  House  for  Wentworth  Castle.  As  it 
approached  Oldport,  an  ovation  awaited  it.  The 
wolves  attacked  it  all  at  once,  with  loud  cries. 

The  horses  were  taken  from  the  chariot  con 
taining  Earle  and  his  blushing  bride ;  brawny 
hands  seized  the  vehicle  and  drew  it  on  amid 
cries  of  rejoicing.  And  above  the  ferocious 
crowd,  with  bearded  faces  and  brandished  arms, 
rose  the  shout  of  Goliath,  — 

u  He  be  the  chief  of  the  wolve»  1 n 


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